Terminal.

She awoke in the middle of the night.

Traces of tears were still visible on her cheeks.

She had fallen asleep beside her ailing mother,
patiently keeping vigil at her feet.

The room was filled with much gloom,
suffering, anxiety, and sorrow.

She was inevitably going to die,

She was about to give back the time she borrowed.

A plastic heart and a half-dead mind,

The only things keeping her alive.

Mechanical lungs pumping and wheezing,

the only things keeping her breathing.

Her skin's purple from the prescribed drugs,

Her freedom and energy robbed.

Two years, lying and living on a bed,

Her life was almost no different from death.

It's a struggle to breathe.
Her Shaking heart and its weary beats.

The Soul and Mind are strong,
but the Body and Will are weak.

It is not Immortality,
but rather it is Peace that she seeks.

Two years, fighting and holding on.

Two long years, youth and health long gone.

Time was catching up, inches away.

Losing grip, trying to veer away from Death's blade.

She gets up and wipes her tears,
looks at her bed-ridden mother with pity and despair.

Nods her head and heaves a sigh,

kisses and bids her good night.

Goes to the kitchen and gets a knife,

kisses and bids her goodbye.