The fever raged like a wildfire through her body

Eating up everything in sight

It burned, the embers searing her being

Finally releasing the ashes on her frail skin

Her skin was hot, so hot.

She was too weak to move

Her limbs unable to respond to the simple order by her mind.

“Move!” They were told

But all they could do was hang limply by her side

They could easily have belonged to someone else.

Her mind which gave the orders already facing its own crisis

The real had become the unreal

The known had become the unknown

Her mind played tricks on her

As the virus marched unopposed through her brain.

Her body showed the result of the assault

Her weight no more than a ten year old’s

Her skin as pale as the mid-day sun

Her legs spindly as spaghetti sticks

A bag of bones, she looked, pleading at me.

Follow me


  1. I really feel this. I was sent home from the hospital to die with a CD4 count of 5. That was 6 years ago. My CD4 is now 675 and I'm back to work. I still remember what it felt like. Prayers for your patient.

Comments are closed.