Bleh with Barry

Random with a cynical twist of lime.

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with one comment

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Wads of tissues

Smattered with crimson,

Laying in small piles

On the floor of our small condo.

The coughs echo

Through the four rooms,

Cutting across the emptiness,

Filling the space.

I wipe the spittle

From her cracking lips.

Her life is measured in

Bedpans and coffee stirrers.

Another cough

And her body seizes with the force.

I watch and get a spoon

Ready with more of the foul liquid.

She lies there, a clammy

Paleness against the scarlet

Splotched sheets.

Their washed in rotations by me.

Her emaciated face

Like a grinning skull

Show gratitude,

But here, I will sit till the end.

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Written by barryr22

February 26, 2010 at 11:37 pm

One Response

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  1. I’m nearing 60, Barry, and I hope that when my time comes to cross over, my sons and daughter are sitting with me, loving me, like you love your mom, even when it’s not so wonderful to be there. Very nice writing.

    notesalongthepath

    February 26, 2010 at 11:59 pm


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