Do you know
Which day it was
Out of all the days,
All those little bits
Of time?

The one when he knew he
Couldn't do it anymore?

And all those days
After
When you tried and tried
To put it right,
To fix the unfixable.

Like cancer,
Do you wonder which was the day
When being sick
Tipped over
Into
Dying.

Death hasn't come yet though
Has it?
Where there's life there's hope,
Isn't there?
But you know there isn't.
And in the cold hours,
When you think the unthinkable,
You wonder
Which day it was
Out of all those days

When he knew he couldn't do it anymore.

The answer,
If you are honest,
Is the first.

The day your insides turned to jelly,
When Nature played its
Wicked, exquisite trick.
Spinning the strands that would
Twist and
Turn
To unravel mercilessly on
That day.
The day when he knew he couldn't do it anymore.

Now,
In these cold hours
He is breathing,
You are breathing.
This is life.

Isn't it?