Thomas Miller's Blog - Posts Tagged "tragic-death"

“The Last Breath of Jacob Masterson”

From the Pen of Thomas Miller

In the hospice that forgot his name,
Jacob Masterson waited for the end.
No flowers, no hymns, no whisper of care—
just the ticking of machines that mocked
the rhythm of a dying heart.

He once loved, though none recalled her face.
She left no note, no scent, no sigh.
And he—too proud, too broken—
never said goodbye, believing
there’d be time.
There never is.

His bed sheets stuck to fevered skin,
his mouth a cave of salt and blood.
The nurses passed, eyes turned to charts—
not to him.
When he begged for mercy,
the morphine bag hung silent,
half-empty, unkind.

Inside him, organs tore like paper.
A wet crack, a ripping flood—
his stomach folding in on itself,
his bowels twisting, his veins
bursting like overripe fruit.
He screamed, but only the walls
answered,
peeling in quiet applause.

The room stank of rust and ruin.
He reached for God,
but found only
the buzzing of a fluorescent light
that would not die before he did.

And when it was done—
when Jacob Masterson fell still—
the world did not pause.
The clock kept time.
The machines kept their cruel hum.

Later, two faces came,
the ones who’d smiled false love
for his will and worn-down home.
They stood over his grave
in the rain,
laughed like children
who’d stolen candy from a corpse,
and when the night deepened,
they made love on the mound—
bodies pressed in mockery
of the man beneath.

And the earth did not cry.
The moon did not turn away.
Only the worms knew
how deep his sorrow went,
how much of him still bled
beneath their feet.

There was no goodbye.
There never is.