I feel like a savage asking myself
Why are they even keeping her alive?
She’s a swinging pendulum between consciousness and confusion–
She doesn’t even know me.
I’m a pendulum too,
Wavering between my stunted little life
And the success it will take to get me out.
But it’s been years since she cared about anything to do with me.
I stopped being a kid and she became the child–
A product of the disease that disparaged her.
But I find it hard to forgive anything
Because when my mom found out about the hospice,
She cried and only said
“I wish my sister had loved me.”
She treated my mother like garbage even before her mind collapsed.
So I have little sympathy,
And I ask myself once again
Why are they keeping her alive?