he slept on clouds
And occasionally when he stepped down I could hold his
      hand and say: “it will be ok”
He always nodded in agreement
But I saw the moon in his eyes

I always talked for about an hour or two
And then stepped out of the coffin
Of the cubicle
Of the hospital itself
Because if I stayed one more second it would engulf my hope

And it did one day

He used to be a child
But I looked at him then and saw just a crew of catheters and
      sheets pulled up to his chin
Just a little mess of depression, anxiety and Xanax
And me sitting next to his bed, trying to tie his hopes together

And now I am sitting ALONE trying to tie MY hopes together
Because when I realized I had failed my knitting of his soul
I had to rip him away from my heart
And I am stuck with nothing to make a patch