Tick. Tock.
The beat went on.
Tick. Tock.
My heart metered by the rhythm. My breathing
measured by the volume. My mind cosseted
by the drugs. My feelings amplified by the
time.
Tick tock went the clock.
So here I lay, never moving, never growing,
never changing. If only they could see the
world through my eyes. Then they’d
know. They’d know to switch me off.
I can hear them, but they cannot hear me.
If only I could speak to them, let them
know I don’t want to go on. If only
I could tell them how I feel, how lonely
I am. But no. I hear them visit. I hear
them offer hollow platitudes to my wife,
to my children. My children who do not understand.
How I mourn for them, for their loss, for
my loss. It would be easier if they could
just let me go. Switch off the machines,
my dear, I promise I won’t scream.
I won’t hate you for doing that thing
you cannot do. Let me die. Let me know the
release from this burden.
But no, on goes the clock. Tick tock. Forever
measuring the passing of time. Tick tock
it goes. Tiny little increments of time
that pass by, measuring out my suffering.
In through the mouth, out through the nose.
My breath tastes stale and decayed.
Just me and my thoughts. My thoughts of
events now past - marrying the love of my
life, our children being born; and thoughts
of events never to be - our children growing
up, growing old together, our grand-children.
I will never see these things of time to
come. For I just have my thoughts of times
lost.
So please, my darling, let me go. I long
for it. I beg of you, let me go.
Ticking, tocking, when will it end?
When will they let me go?
Tick. Tock.
The beat goes on. |
