Third Door on the Right

"I don’t know how to pray," she said.
"For this, for you, the end."
She lay at a loss,
Her eyes polluted, steely slits.
Rice paper skin loosely holding in
Vast, venerable veins.
Their purpose fooled
Into considering one more day.
"It is Thursday,
And I have a permanent."
Then her eyes fix themselves
Upon mine, she knows.
"Keep me in mind,
Dear." I won’t forget.
And that is just like her
To hold off death intent
To have her say. Again
She knows, and then does not,
It is time. Fraught
With just enough heart
Remaining, she pulls her way
Loose from her body, barely
What it was when she was put to bed.
It is cold and blue and black and red.
For the last time,
"I don’t know how to pray,"
She said. It is alright…
I will for this, for you, the end.