once life January 18, 2017

Once Life
I've lost track of my life. It's all gone. I'm gone from my life. I live in a bed. I roll from side to side. Someone takes my excrement and flushes it away. Flushes me away. Little by little. I'm flushed away. I struggle to move, to rise out of bed. Wait don't flush me not yet. I can move I can rise up. Someone catches me in my painful struggle, guided I fall into a wheeled chair. A symbol of My freedom from the comfort and madness of the horizontal. I am pushed into another room where I swing a limb and pump a weight and struggle through intolerable pain , to raise my body, bracing my arms for the impossible task of holding up this mass of what once was me. up onto a walker. I drag and press on the bars lifting a leg through numbed reveal. my arms and back, move one foot's length with one foot while a hand grasps the back of old worn pants and skin. Two more steps someone says, that's good. I look into her eyes. Yes I think. Two more steps. That's my life now. Two more steps in a house full of strangers with no one , meaningful person, watching, offering interest of the heart, of investment in decades of only non interest. Only persons who are payed to be interested cheer me on as I wave. I'm being extricated by distant computerized strangers in two days that imagine only green currency laying in my once again, horizontal state of being, being only commodity not flesh and breath.  I imagine the extreme chill of air as I pass through the door into a world I don't know. Into a car I can't yet sit in. Which will take me To a once home with stairs I can't climb,to an apartment with such sadness in it I can't bare to open the door. I look down the long staircase Ive magically climbed in my mind. If I fell down who  would care? Oh people would shed tears through memories of the me that once was. But life would go on for them and this empty agony of a life I hate would end for the liver Me. 
Would it hurt to hit every step with this wounded body? Would I even feel the wood breaking my back, my neck,my already broken heart?  Then my life would be over, if I were lucky. Blackness and silence and no more breath. How often I have thought of this ending. Of the end of pain in my heart the rage in my soul. The fury of giving my life to an automaton. The best years my youth. There's nothing there waiting behind the door. No love of person. None that I know Now. no genuine joy in seeing me, no heartfelt kindness I can feel. No tenderness of arms enfolding, soothing. It disappeared along with Touch of flesh against flesh melting into pools of two as one. It's gone all gone and I'm lost among my possessions and memories of denigration and abuse; Of Ice and coldness like living death. Of strangers arguments, meaningless chores in a once life lost in misunderstood decades. Lost in living here, now and a hundred years ago. Strangers each loathing  their lives and the other, I wish I could end mine but I don't even have the strength or courage to do that. There never was a together. Only the dream, the fantasy, the wish of together, by one, the chore doer of endless meaningless wasted time, in a wasted waiting life. 
I hope I die during my next trial. I hope breath leaves my body. I'm wasting  the air. Someone else could be breathing. How many sleeps I have begged the powers of the universe to let me die. I loathe my once life. It wasn't life it was horrible entrapment, endless chores with no love no joy no companionship nothing but Fantasy and dishes and laundry and fear of the next step of self disappointment. I don't want to live anymore. There are too many memories of abuse and failure. It must end. I can't go back to that horrible once life. 
               by. MarciaMarcia