Have an generic poetry;
I.V., cold, grey hand
Weak, no strength, can’t stand
Not my bed, pristine white
Mouth feels full of sand
Sprawled, I need to write
Last chance to write, tonight
I’ve no tears left to weep
Didn’t go without a fight
Life support with slowing beep
Bed is dark, covers are deep
Death coming, for my soul to reap
Maternity ward cries. Smile. Sleep.