And what if this was all it is
Nice to meet you, old friend.
I always knew you were there,
somewhere between id and ego.
You were the pulse of conscience
acting before the brain could re-act,
the voice sighing
stop
oh stop
so softly, lost in the breeze, a myth.
Now all is silent but the hissbump
of the ventilator;
you are not within but outwith.
In. Out. I drift. But breathe. You wait
beyond my sight.
Today is the day for a choice to be made.
Do you feel for yourself or only through us?
Like childbirth the first time; the agony
the not-knowing.
You feel the wave crash down through
and through,
and think there is no bearing it; yet you do,
and keep on bearing unbearable masses
until eternity flares in the eyes
of your child and the terror just... passes.
You forget. Still we persist.
I remember when young thinking
"Go through all this mess?
this horror?
Gladly choose a life of pain
then choose it again?"
What a silly thing to be a living creature,
replicating.
It has not been a bad life. A lover, a child conceived.
Unhappiness, given and received.
And so, so much stupidity.
If I could do it all over again would I hear
your soft sigh
stop oh
stop?
The boredom though, of eternal perfection,
it has been fun to be flawed, sometimes.
There is a small crease in the sheet
beneath my thigh.
I cannot move.
I think I am suffering.
I know I shall not wake and find life
just a dream,
a soft sigh
whispered stop
oh stop.
I remember one spring, fresh wind
heady with coconut from gorse
blazing yellow in the sun.
The sound of bees and skylarks
a symphony, salt sweet
tang of his mouth on my lips falling,
falling
into ecstacy.
Sweet serendipity of time,
space and being.
Eternal.
Lost. Breathe in.
Out.
Inspiration for a lifetime of love.
And your soft sigh whispered
stop oh
stop.
Even universes end.
We never said goodbye.
Here we are. The fraying begins.
I feel the flutter of frail valves,
delicate whisper of electricity
as the connection
between heart and soul loosens. Oh.
Inarguable proof of the final doom.
If there is a chance to escape,
the body screams
'Run from
that mess
that horror,
the agony of the not-knowing.
Continue to
continue
to pray for one last chance.'
Yet, strangely, no fear, here.
It's a relief to surrender.
I function despite myself,
the puppets of pipes and wires,
so I stare at the ceiling and wait.
Nothing of me will resonate
when I am gone.
All ... this... will dissolve.
I am tired. Bored, even. I have lost it all
except the scent of gorse, sunshine,
the texture of wool on bare thighs
and a song without words.
You have a question to ask me,
but
stop,
oh
stop
not yet
Bio: Sadie (@saccharinequeen)
Sadie Maskery lives in Scotland by the sea with her family. Her writing will be found in various publications both online and in print, and she can be found on Twitter as @saccharinequeen where she describes herself, optimistically, as "functioning adequately ".
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