1
Laying on the sterile mattress I feel that this is all that is left for me. Walls painted in colours which are supposed to be soothing. Lapis blue, seafoam green, lavender. All I see is blood red oozing from the unsealed cracks of this ceiling. The Woman beside me is gurgling, gurgling, gurgling. I take more pills that scratch their way down my throat. It’s real, tangible, a feeling that I have grown accustomed to. ______ and ______ have stopped visiting. It’s okay. I didn’t like their hands on my shoulder. Weighing me down, down, down, down. If this bed could sink any further I would be in hell already. The last thing I have is my mind but it’s failing me. You fail me. My reference wasn't obscure enough. I’m telling you these things you already know and when you read this you will feel sorry, so sorry. And will you put this book on a dusty shelf where nobody would ever check for it? That’s what everything else is. A book is someone’s dying words. They want to be remembered, they want to live on. We all just want to be remembered for being greater than we ever were.
2
Some days are better than others. Today they changed the artifical tree for a potted plant. It will soon dry up like me. Placed on the edge of my table, I push it over. I want to see it crumble. Like Ghiza and Stonehenge, it is only great because it has survived. They are remarkable for simply existing, still. We all want to be remembered. I can’t remember the book where I read that. I know I read it somewhere. “I read somewhere.” As if that gives you any validation. Talking out of our asses we just want to be remembered. The scholars we read are rolling over in laughter in their graves. Being revered, deifyied, even, for something they became only in death. Get over it.
3
Last day in this pit. They said they would cut the cord if I didn’t come back. I’m back, you know…I never left. I just don’t want to speak anymore. You all failed me, and I would be failing myself if I fought for it. What’s so precious about all this anyway? It’s always raining, or when it’s not raining it rained yesterday, or it’s going to rain tomorrow. What’s so miraculous about it? You come out, scream, don’t know where you are. When you leave it’s the same thing. Come out, scream, don’t know where you are.
4
Where is ____?
Where is ________?
With _______?
They are blanks to me. I don’t want to fill them in. Why must blanks always be filled in? Can’t you just be damned satisfied with not knowing? That’s why you have to read about it. Be your own expert, be your own technocrat. Write your own eulogy. Your death will sell you out.
5
My biggest Fear is not dying on these sheets, but being remembered as something greater than I was. My biggest Fear is not dying on these sheets but dying as someone I never was.
