Down

We sit in the dying room
Blisters on our toes
Strange smell upon our clothes
Plastic cups
Clock stuck at noon
Always waiting
Always waiting
Alice hides in a plastic bag
I brush her hair when the lights go out
All we want is the red bed
A few cans and a little oxygen
Our home
Constant talking in our head
So loud
Such fear that it will stop
That silence will take over our hands
What can we do but sit and wait
The dying room has windows
We can look out but instead choose to keep our head down.