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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 12:42:10 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 163862
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => nicky
[time] => 2010-12-22 15:52:54
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The tragedy of your existence lying there. In a hospital bed Lying there with tubes Lying there, bloated, organs failing. Lying there waiting to die. Your twin sons in Sunderland lying there with no idea of what you have done What you have become. A Junkie mum, that gave them up. Your faith in them your only solace. I sit there by your bed with your brothers. Your father telling jokes to hide himself from the fact.... You are dying. The rhythmic noise of the equipment helping you breath, comforting. Lapping out your hours. A tide that will end. The equipment will be used again. I remember when we were kids. Your parents split. You stayed with us a few days. We the same age, but you with this burden. You, the eldest child. The one who learned to love her father. The drunk. You never forgave your mother for doing the only thing she could. She wasn't perfect. Your mother tried to control you but you sensed she saw your father in you, and you despised her. Her cancer left you alone, with the twins. Heroin your only solace. Your new found friends became the lost, the abused and their abusers. A new set of rules. People to see. Places to be. Routine. All to gain the money required to take you to a place of peace. Alone. Whatever money you got went from paper to powder. No room for food or sustenance. The long-term a luxury ill afforded. The doctors warned you, the last time. I know you wanted to change. You saw the twins at Charnock Richard services. You hugged and gave them Christmas Presents. You told them you'd change. They were bewildered by your emotion but didn't believe. They gave up on Santa already. They thrived without you. Something that comforted whilst also causing pain. It was July when I saw you as I was walking to work. You marched. Arms folded in baggy jumper to hide your frailty. The life of the party. Thankfully, I heard you before I saw. You were with two blokes. Clients for all I know. Maybe friends. I had learned to judge you. I crossed the road to avoid you. I felt like Judas but we were both relieved. We all waited by your bed. The nurse had told us your organs were failing one by one. There was no hope. Only Pain. Your father, in the waiting room. Still telling dumb jokes. I looked at the clock. This was torture. 10pm. My need to leave my only solace. Three times I tried to leave but I couldn't. You, like a spent battery in a cheap wall clock. Trying to tick, but of no use. Your Junkie friends. Not here by your bed. They were scared for themselves. You showed them the way. Smack would blank this out for them. I cried at your funeral. I helped carry the coffin It weighed heavy on me. Nobody dared speak the reason for your passing in church. You were clean as far as they were concerned. They all end up clean. One way or the other. The picture of you as a child haunts me. I miss you always Nicky. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 147 [topic] => 55 [informant] => poeticjestix [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => dedicatedpoems )
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