Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Terminally ill

I wrote this semi-poem, I guess it might be considered free form, during my senior year of college because I was bored waiting for my class to start on a Thursday morning. The idea was to concentrate on a theme and repetition while also being visually dynamic. This poem can be found published in "Stars in Our Hearts: Findings" by WPM in 2012.

(c) A.F. 2/16/12
Terminally Ill

Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound of my heart monitor echoing in my ear, like the ominous ticking of the crocodile.
Beep. Beep. Beep. 
Twenty-four hours
That's what they've given me. I wonder what it will feel like when I go. Will it be painful? Will I even be conscious? 
Twenty-four hours.
How should I spend my last minutes? 
Confined to my bed. 
Needles stuck in my skin, pricking and pinching - leaving angry purple bruises. 
Confined to my bed.
A faded curtain drawn around me; a barrier between the land of the living and the terminally ill. 
A curtain that reeks of plastic bed sheets - the kind that keep toddlers from urinating on their mattresses.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound of my life ticking away, the noise my hair made when it fell out in clumps. 
Twenty-four hours - 
To stare at the gray dust collecting on the white-washed walls. To think. To cry. 
Confined to my bed.
Hooked up to an IV. Forced to let go of the past (and of the future). 
A curtain drawn around me. 
Faded.
Not at all like the curtains strung up for the Prom tonight (a dance I'll never attend). 
This dance I'm in is one I'll never lead. Counting down the minutes; each and every breath.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I'm already gone. 

(c) A.F. 2/16/12 


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