comatose

Perfect Centerpiece

Folder: 
human beings

We curse.

 

Such a life, my sweet,

To be as a fixture upon a lace doily,

A centerpiece, waiting to be gazed at

Through the eyes of someone who might 

See your world, hear your heart, touch your soul.

 

Such a life, my sweet, 

Waking up every morning, 

The gurgle of drainage down a silicone tube

To accompany the first glimpse of daylight,

The taste of toothpaste,

Replaces morning coffee,

And though you can smell its aroma

As it floats upstairs, 

No one even knows you are aware.

 

Sounds of your Dad's leather workboots,

I know you can hear,

Tapping on an oak floorboard,

They fade into memories,

A seemingly otherworld away

From the morning enema about to call on you,

You know, that one you swore you never wanted?

You never thought they'd be so cruel, I know,

The words you wrote were jumbled and twisted, 

Even with clear instructions listed.

 

Your eyes burn through my soul

Like a welding torch,

Because I know you are there, aware,

And if you had said this life 

Were all you had ever dreamed of, 

Or hoped for,

We could rejoice that you are alive,

No one would have to pretend 

They were happy buying 50 adult diapers a week.

Wiping the drool from lips 

That kissed mine so tenderly on hot summer nights,

Would not produce the warm rush of shame that it does.

The frigid glares of judgement

By onlookers are like daggers.

Their thoughts pierce through,

And shatter the glass walls 

Of our new home named "denial".

 

So we curse.

 

We curse the shattered shards we trample under foot,

We curse the time we spend in front of the mirror.

We curse the smile worn in vain,

And smothered in invisible pain,

That we don so shamelessly to greet you daily, 

And we choke on every lie that slips through

This carefully orchestrated facade

That screams to be seen for what it is.

 

We curse the night,

Because sleep was something 

That died when the flatline disappeared,

When they told us this is what "alive" is.

 

We curse the tubes,

We curse the sound of breathing monitors.

We curse wheelchairs,

And doctor's offices,

We curse every dream we ever shared,

Every challenge we ever dared,

The rising sun, the day that's done,

The fun, the laughter, the tears.

 

We curse ourselves.

We curse the thousands of dollars 

Our suffering is making

For others' taking

As your body contorts,

Into nothing more than a fragile shell.


It is like we all

At the same time,

 

Arrived

 

In hell.

 

 

2015 ©

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just more ramblings of empathetic garbage that nurses become magnets for in the midst of seeing life through the eyes of family caregivers. No, not a first hand experience. I am that strong...NOT!!

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Comatose

Dancing in another space, unwilling to turn around,
Playing games, taunting this place,
Knowing your life is no longer a race to the finish,
All debts and debtors relinquished,
Laughing for a short moment while the time is ripe,
Watching your body lie still on the bed
While you can't help but feel compassion
For those left behind,
If they only knew your mind,
The beauty you now know is beyond the flesh,
You try repeatedly to tell them it's ok,
And that they aren't losing their minds
If they hear you, but only one or two take heed.
You wait for months, every nervous twitch seen
Seems to make them think you are coming back,
But I hear you...that it is way too nice where you are going,
And there is no turning back,
Some of us sense your desire to tell them,
And wish I could tell them for you,
We can only be here,
We cannot speak for you,
You must find a way to make them understand,
Or just make an exit and bid farewell to this land.

 

 

3:00 AM 4/20/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

People go into comas and last for years while their body is preserved by science. The spirit...waits.

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