Tell me, what are you supposed to say to someone who’s dying

To someone you wish to document everything they said
because they have a preordered gravestone
and timebomb, counting down to their very last breath
Now tell me how to form words
and not tears, as they fester in the back of my swollen throat
when I escape to the bathroom to practice my quivering smile
and carefully cover my language in a sticky sugar coat
Teach me to transform my eyes into lenses
that focus through the blur of tears,
so I can commit every last detail to memory
to keep me company when they are no longer near
Help me to understand their pain…
but everytime I do I can’t stand on my feet
because unlike them, I’m selfish
and far too weak.
Because how am I supposed to be happy and oblivious
when they can feel the weight of every passing day in their crying bones
how am I supposed to make their last days their best
when that’s the drugs’ job as my mom hands me the phone
Just Tell me Tell me Tell. me.
what to say as I’m choking on my words, the very last words I murmur into their ear
on their last day
On the third day I haven’t seen them because they are black and blue
Through the jumble of everything I say
The only thing I manage is I Love You