The lines on the screen don’t tremble at all,
As for salvation I scream and for help I call.

They say they’re doing all they can do,
But their roses and balloons don’t change the truth.

“Unresponsive,” they say,
As I slowly waste away.
“I still love you,” she whispers every day,
And then she puts down her flowers and she walks away.

As I struggle to climb out from inside of myself,
They shake their heads sadly and put their charts on the shelf.

They know the reality now,
And I weep inside but say nothing aloud.

“We can’t help him,” they say,
As I slowly waste away.
“I still have hope,” she whispers every day,
And then she closes her book and she walks away.

I know I’m not a person anymore,
And if I’m still alive I can’t say for sure.

I’m just a machine that occasionally breathes,
With ever-closed eyes that no one can see.

“We’re so sorry,” they say,
As I slowly waste away.
“I wish things were different,” she whispers to me one day,
And then without looking back she walks away.

The door opens softly one night as I sleep,
And someone walks in on silent, stealthy feet.

“This will help you,” they say,
And they inject salvation into my veins.

“You’re welcome,” they reply to my silent thanks,
As I die with a happy smile on my face.