The cord lay, in all its glory,
metaphysical, in the room.
A choice lay on the left and right,
one leading to her doom.
The button sits in comfort by,
her shoulder near the cards,
its reddened face alight in all,
ominous in its guise.
Her hand lay up near by its cord,
the wires leading towards,
her face directed upwards in
some prayer to reverend lord.
Her family waits in lobby bench,
their pens in fervor stroke,
as they in their neat cleanliness
fill out the paperwork.