He stands in darkness in front of a mirror,
Staring at a reflection that isn't there,
Staring into a boy who is fading fast.
One flick of a switch could confirm his dread,
And let his world come crumbling down.
He runs his hands down his chest,
Counting each bone, days he has left here.
If he touched hard enough he could draw red.
It wouldn't matter, not here, in the dark.
Fingers creep over scalp,
He feels every bump, every crack, every vein....
Every pore, crying to him dehydration.
His tongue feeling like a slice of stale bread.
"I couldn't swallow, even if I had the strength to...
.....there's nothing there."
He feels around, stumbling for his cigarettes;
A lighter.
For the smallest of moments, he catches a glimpse of a reflection.
Surely not him.
With sunken features and transparent skin?
The nightmare disappears behind an orange glow,
And a screen of smoke.
He drags in deep, thinking,
"This could be my last" with a laugh and sits.
....Boy stands over a lifeless figure.
Naked and sprawled out in his arm chair,
Limbs almost lost in the plush green upholstery.
The chair looking so fresh compared to these bones.
Long fingers clutch a lighter and a carton of "slims".
Boy grunts in mild amusement....never seen slimmer.
He slides his eyes up the skeletal neck,
And along a stream of hazy light;
A small crack in the drawn curtains.
Dust floats like the snowflakes outside,
And rest on blue lips.
Boy recognizes that smile,
And those eyes scream relief...rest.
So he can finally sleep? It's over....
...And the tears crawling, like a silver rain...
Can stop.
 
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