The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 40

DAY 40: They tell you:

everyone is born alone and dies

alone, you die alone for sure

but they won't tell you when
otherwise

I don't want to die

alone

shipped out of my own sick bed

into an ambulance, the gurney

boys bumping my head going down

the stairs -- ouch --

into the sick bay, take off your 
ring, please, it won't come off

-- my family said goodbye back

there like they'd never see me again.

-- I'm stripped and hooked up

monitors, tubes, bottles and machines

up my nose, then down my throat, into 
my flacid air-sacks which hurt so bad

-- can I make one last video call --

I don't know what to say

I can't talk with an air-pump down

into my dripping red lungs -- I sit and wait

watch as they wheel the unfortunates out

the back, into a bag and/or a box,

into a military truck down to an open

pit or a hot oven (hell?) -- no one can

visit us, we can't see the helpers
who go about their business like ghosts

we only see their tired eyes, which say

-- at this point --

you die alone --

okay, but I

I didn't believe them, until now

I didn't get it.