There is nothing left but to wait,

An unspoken reassurance that time has come,

Its certainty a veiled void,

Under which I had matured rather numb.

And I hear a whisper, 

A cry. A tear – 

They were grieving the living 

While still at the doors of death,

A farewell they were bidding

Before my final breath.

And sometimes the voices obscure before my eyes,

Their existence like life, disappear,

But it’s there, lost but there,

It reaches out for me, enclosing me

In it's embrace and I lose my breath,

Something which may happen anyways.

I stare out at life,

A blur. My eyes masking the drunk.

And I smile, 

Oh, the bliss it was!

This life, a tasteless beer! 

Quiet it is, 

But.

I can hear now, the only sound,

And it rocks me back to fatality,

It’s voice beeping,

The ticking of the clock.

The monitor,

A blind reminder,

Of memories that were 

And can't be. 

The ups; the downs - 

A mute journey of the alive,

And then nothing.

A blank monotonous bleep. 

All's silent.

I am dead.