Clean white sheets
brilliant bedspreads
starched stick solid
beeping booming pulsing
machinery
clanking, clattering, noisy
in the quiet deathly quiet
of the room
bleep bleep bleep
there is life there
but is it worth being
kept alive
for this?

I grab the pale hand
hold on
dearly hoping.

For what?

And now my hand is
the pale hand and
the cycles continue
the beginning the ending
both
in the same white
repulsive creamy colored
room
and I thought to myself,
how fitting.