Her fragile veins exposed
Her eyes red with exhaustion
And the quiet hum of the monitor in the background
It creates a spectacle
Too agonizing to watch
Her even breaths
Becoming farther apart
The hum slowly dying down
As if someone has pressed
the mute button
Her dark eyes
And premature grey hair
Can't block the beauty
Breaking through her cracks
She still looks like a masterpiece
With just a few rips on her edges
If only she would have realized
The butterflies in my stomach
At the sight of her
Or the adoration in my eyes
When the blood rushes to her cheeks
She is perfect
Scratch that; was
The volume has returned,
No longer a symphony
But an inescapable jumble of deafening white noise
And the breaths seem distant
All that is left is the tortuous screech
Of the flat line
And the heavy tension damp in the air
