Sep 01

Not Dead Yet

The light lies,
a cruel trick, simple, a flicker
of devastation.

A drop of the addictive
pain.
So easy to destroy yourself,
such a calm heart
as you destroy others.

The body on the bed,
couch,
floor...
So still,
so dead and dying,
but still breathing.

Still waiting,
aching with the sudden release
of pressure.

My heart trembles,
counting each one of your breaths,
anxious and unwilling
as you sleep.

How long will I see you?
Not dead yet...

How many breaths must I
count,
as I hold mine,
shivering, nervous
tears slicking your neck.

How long will the light
keep tricking me,
until it shows me the truth
I fear to see?

Fear to touch
and feel, hear the
cold, empty stillness in your lungs,
fear
to taste not a drop
but a barrel...

How long must I wait
to witness my failure.
The failure
to count your hesitant breaths?

How long must I wait
till I am drunk
on pain and
tears...?

How long shall I sit here,
staring at your sick
old body,
soul chipped away piece by
piece.

Will I know you have stopped
breathing?
From months of counting
minutes, seconds,
feeling you,

Feeling the frightening
undead fickle death that
tries to make me forget
and remember.

Reminding me,
distracting me.
Will I know that your breaths
have stopped?

Will I still recall how to breathe
after holding it
so long?

Will I still wish
to breathe?

Will I become the light,
tricking myself and you?
Repeating to myself those cruel words,
‘Not dead yet’

‘Not dead yet...’

 
About the Author: Michmich
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