From death's mouth

From the doorway to her room I can see her,
Disguised as an old person in a nylon floral dress.
She has her head on the pillow,
Neck ready to snap.
"What do you want me to do now? she croaks like a person, as she rubs her forehead like a person.
My hands are on her back ' a rack of bones that you could scrub laundry on,
As she struggles to raise herself into the wheelchair.
She moves like a person, and talks like a person. Yet she is death.
Outside the air is too bright and windy for this dead persons eyes,
And trying to cover them ' and the death within them ' she demands "I want to go back now.
She lifts her hollow head, and the sucked-in cheeks disappear further into the cavities of her face as she purses dried-up blue lips and gives me death stares.
"What do you want from me? she cries like a person.
"I just want you to see how beautiful it is outside, get some fresh air, I say.
But actually, I just want the death to leave her, or her to leave the death and die.