Sheets

The sun went down,
but I'm still here.
   There's still a tube inside me.
      My dinner tray is in the sink.
         The whiteboard says my name.
The thermostat reads "55"--
that's something
I can choose.
But
my best friend died
right down the hall
wrapped up in sheets
like mine.
I want to leave,
but I cannot.
The moon
can't take my place.