Alone you are not, for I am here.
I hold your hand, yet you know not my presence.
Your lips chapped from dryness, from dying.
Moisture they say, I need moisture.
I pick up the Chap stick, feeding them, the flaky crust, around them disappears.
Your hands once soft, now wrinkled and dry, like an elephant hide.
Lotion they scream, lotion. I give them lotion.
You open your eyes, say thanks, then one last breath,
before you gasp saying goodbye.
Rest in peace, My friend.