Deathbed

Time spent in a hospital room
A deathbed, machines, a few chairs.....
Walls loom high above the starched bed.
The taller they get the closer together they come.
Looking up, the portal seems almost in sight.
Ready to open, ready to receive.
She lays there struggling
For every breath forced in her.
Plastic, tubes, oxygen
All taped to her face.
Forcing her muscles to contract
To react..
Comfort care they call it,
Torture, what I call it.