Battered and Tarnished

Battered and tarnished, the white cotton
Sheds an artificial warmth
On the still figure trapped
In the cold, sterile hallway.
Wrapped in this fading shelter,
The frail frame moves only
With each ragged breath
That echoes and merges with
The humming machinery of the hall
Like the tick of an unsteady clock,
Waiting for repair.