A Dying Thing

I might be dying
He looks at me with fear
I'm no longer a thing that he treasures
I'm just a dying thing

This dying thing still feels
This dying thing feels alone, unloved and unwanted
This dying thing is told to lock herself away

This dying thing is offered no vigils, no last wishes
This dying thing wishes
She was still welcomed in the land of the living
But that will never happen
They are all afraid
Of becoming a dying thing

They'll wash their hands of me with alcohol
They'll wear two masks now
One to keep away the disease
The other will be a smile
Telling me it will be okay
I'm not okay with being a dying thing

This dying wants to live, to be loved again
Yet, all I hear is whispers saying:
"It's a mistake to love a dying thing."

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