The yellow tinge to previous white, skin stretched shiny and pulled so tight, skeletal remains with a lingering soul, clearly that virus has taken a toll.

The wasting disease has moved right in.

Muscles have gone at temple and chin.

Fluid has parked its swollen self at abdomen, feet, and over oneself.

From slow death, on to blessed relief, focus instead on hope, than grief.

Mortal risks for everyday transpire, overtaking where all the norms were prior.

Blood flow alters in these withering veins, draining life from those whom suffer this bane.

We're transplant focused for the time it buys, these lives are withering before our eyes.