Dear Robert, They keep telling me I’m Dead

But everything is too white for that.

Did they really think that the endless

white space would remind me of death?

Sweet love, I smell your cologne

in the root of my nostrils.

Come on Robert!

I want to see something beyond the white walls

And stained tile.

There you are sweetie,

wearing those clothes?

I didn’t buy you white scrubs.

Why so solemn?

Reach out; give me your hand,

and let’s go eat at Mac’s.

A burger could do you good, Bones.

Love, you are walking away,

you’re supposed to take me with you.

Where’s that music coming from?

Robert? That’s our song, isn’t it lovely?

Our wedding song…

Take this sinking boat

and point it home,
we've still got time.
Raise your hopeful voice

you have a choice

Robert,

they keep telling us we’re dead.

I can’t get our song out of my head.

Our waltz, your callused hands

On my hips, your every step

So calculated, gentle, despite your large feet.

I don’t know why they try to lie,

I see you every day in your white scrubs.

You visit me daily, very much alive

With the heat of your hand in mine.

They keep forcing pills down my throat Robert.

once they even mixed it with my food,

but I caught the miss-shaped chunk of potatoes

and the oblong piece of corn among the rest.

The orange tic-tacs give me stomach

cramps, migraines that blur my vision.

I saw my mother yesterday Robert,

I nearly fainted in fright.

It’s been five years

Since she passed away.

They keep telling me you’re dead, Robert.

You visit me less now, whispering:

 You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won.

In my ear, your hot breath

on my neck a pool of electricity.

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back to where it all began.

There’s a man in white scrubs

Who bathes me now, his hands

callused and gentle.

I don't know you
But I want to,

I’ve no time.