and a hand

And a hand,
so soft and artificial,
it pets your head rhythmically.
The day it began was the day you died
literally
and figuratively
You are not strong enough,
you see
Nor are you wise enough
to be the bravest of the
truest core
just leaning in
and wanting more so
You take and take
and never lose,
because all that you have is
nothingness
The hand, it disappears and
then
what else?
Regrets for all that could have been?
Perhaps a sigh
and then...
and then.
The head's slow, soft decline
the eyelids' flutter closed and then
and then
and then you die.
On this one point I think that we
can meet
eye to eye