assisted suicide
By pumadelta
- 514 reads
Arthur likes to sleep sometimes
Eyes wide open in the middle of the day
He’s transfixed on a spot on the wall
His cell phone vibrates, no voice mail
Who could it be today?
His mouth is half wide open
Saliva crusts on his Egyptian cotton pillow
A smell comes from the kitchen
Of bacon, eggs and toast
He’s been here for an eternity
The cobwebs tell of his stay
There’s a cool breeze from the balcony
The voice of children laughing as they play
The neighbourhood is silent
Except for car tyres crushing the tarmac roads
He thinks he can here the ocean
demonic voices, everyone round here knows.
The sun bursts through the window
Dust dances in its shards
His mum’s preparing breakfast
Mid-day is looming large.
His appetites for sleeping
He turns and cocks his head
The bedroom door creeks on its hinges
He longs for the moon and stars
He’s grateful for his mother
A blessing in the guise
Of blessed dear mother terresa
With ruby turners eyes.
Her girth’s wide like the Atlantic Ocean
Her apron strings are tied
She calls his name so gently
He stirs can’t wipe his eyes
He’s the only one who’s left now
His twin died in the fire
The toast is burnt the bacon’s over done
The eggs are sunny side
He cannot move a motion
Beneath his neck there’s no life
He jumped from that fourth storie window
Crushed pelvic bone
Blinding his big brown eyes
He now regrets not listening
To his father who has since died
His rebuking and chastening
Of assisting suicide
He didn’t heed the warning
Until black smoke billowed from the sides
Of that fourth storie window
smoking pot with his bro
For the last time.
His mother tells him stories
A brother and dad
now at God’s
Right hand side
his life's a living hell now
belief in God's a distant memory
how could he let them both die
If there was any justice
He would be the one who died
He now lives in this prison
Only his mother by his side
again tied to mother’s apron stings
And in that bed he'll die.
There is no God or justice
Life carries on outside.
his life is now an echo
of what he thinks inside
a life on tranquilisers
the devil and his lies.
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Comments
It's a story, it's a poem,
It's a story, it's a poem, most of it rhymes or near enough, some does not. There's a lot to it and the ideas work and the emotion behind it works, not sure if it might work better with a little restructuring. Overall I like it.
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