Black Rose

They look at you and see

      Death;

A reminder that one day

They too will be

      As empty

      As silent

      As weak.

I look at you

      And I see me.

        Beauty,

            Life,

               Bounty,

                  Tenderness,

                        Endurance,

                          Blood flowing through my veins.

A new beginning.

   A different shade of light.

I see me,

   A Black Rose

      Free to succeed

         Free to reign

 

 

A funeral

Pain stabs at your heart
a rusty dagger;
beckoning the blood to flow.
Tears with their own will power,
invade your face.
Weakened knees tremble
uncontrollably,
sending you tumbling to the ground.
Barely a whisper
above the sounds,
above the screams.
no one really knows
what to say to the bereaved.
priests
pastors
lie.
tell you that your loved one has gone
to a better place.
Please!
Give me a break!
Others touch your shoulders,
hug you
speak with their eyes;
their faces
sculptures
give the impression of sympathy. a most horrific scene
occurs once the last pile of dirt
hits the ground. Everybody is smiling,
pining for ‘happy hour’.
Looking at the crowd of storytellers,
drunkards,
spectators,
you wonder why
people bother to have funerals. Just have a party
get it over with.
No one sees the pain
behind your stare.
They’re too busy
having a drink;
on behalf of the dead of course.

Death watch

I wake up each morning now and look for signs. My face looks thinner,but my eyes are still bright. I notice the wells setting in my neck as they did when i was younger. Younger, younger… I ponder on the word, wondering if my worries were different then. No. Nothing has changed.

As I don my clothes I feel the gap, the space, where I had once been. My watch dangles on my wrist;an ornament on a Christmas tree; more like a Weeping Willow.

What do they call trousers that dangle from the top down? Bell tops instead of bell bottoms? I cringe as I easily pull my belt in one notch further just so they fit snuggly. I do all I can to hide the gaps, but I cannot forget them. So self-conscious.

I look down at my arms and see the veins. I find this hilarious. Every time I’ve had to give blood the nurses would say they can’t find them. Well, here they are! Pulsating before my very eyes. Mocking me.

Luckily I still have all my hair. No threat there. But my nervousness has intensified. I have fingernails after a fashion. Because I don’t want to experience the pain of biting down any further or the embarrassment of having people look at my hands.

My hands, still warm and comforting. They are my mascot. They show no change, no difference.

I found myself looking at the photos I took of my legs, my thighs, before it all began. So beautiful, full, smooth, inviting. Now they look like pins; barely there. I am only lucky to have them to stand on. Who knows how long that will last.

I cheer myself up by thinking that I’m finally losing weight. Maybe I’ll get that bikini body I’ve always wanted. But who am I going to show them off to? Ah well! Nothing wrong with admiring yourself, even at the cost of…yourself…

I don’t sleep peacefully. I am always tired during the day. Yawning nonstop; coffee or no coffee. I’m past worrying whether I’m going to wake up. I’m past feeling weighed down. It’s all but consumed me now, and I’m walking around in a trance; like a zombie…a mute zombie.

All thoughts of progress have gone out my mind. Whatever hope there was is like a glimmer the size of a needle’s point; hardly visible. I have all but given up on becoming anything but what I am, a lackey, a gofer, a failure…

I will sit back and watch as my body fades into an emaciated house of last breaths.