My Friend Slow Death From Aids Poem by BRUCE MARTONE

HIS BLOOD CRAWLS SLOW
HIS HEART BEATS FAST
HIS BODY WAY TO THIN
THE FLUID PUMP SLOW WITH IN
HIS TIRE BEAT UP VEINS
WHILE HIS SWEAT START TO POUR DOWN
LIKE APRIL SHOWERS HITTING THE GROUND
AND HE IS LISTENING TO EVERY SECOND TICK
WHILE TRYING TO BLOCK OUT HIS PAIN
THAT WILL ALWAYS REMAIN WITH NO CURE
WHILE HIS TEMPERATURE RISING TO NEW HEIGHT'S
WANTING THE ANGEL OF DEATH TO KNOCK AT HIS DOOR
ASKING HIM PLEASE TAKE ME NOW
TO SOME HOW END MY SLOW DEATH NOW.