The howl of dogs, the slamming of doors,
the silent rage hidden under silent skin
the ringing of the bell for morphine..
like a rat for the cheese..
like a dream exploding into a nightmare
laughing sounds like crying through closed doors
but who's to know when death comes calling
shorting out the circuits of life
turning off that force feeder..
that dream of once was,
now just textbook nostalgia.

The nurse enters with Lysol cleanliness
white latex gloves to grip you with..
a warm smile, booming voice..
since she doesn’t know if you can hear or not..
the voice that echo's off of carpet...
the attitude that comes with it.

Strangers in a strange land..with holier than thou
christ views overlooking your opinion of death...
telling you what to do... to do the right thing...
in gods eyes... not medicines eyes..
not the 500 dollar a visit money making scheme..

No.. the right thing...
Half the human, all the spirit..
More morphine than you could shake your catheter at..
and then a little speech therapy to feeble at progress
wasting away in a bed.. the bed of death..
He can smell you a mile away...
It knows when you're down...
It plans on it..

Might as well make a couple bucks off you.
The diaper changes of our daily lives..
go out like a baby..can't walk, talk..
can't do anything that made you...you.

Humbled to slurred babble...
when you cry..you sound like a monster..
you could voice over a pirate..
and with all this.. you are still loved..
fending off death, waiting for peace to come..

which is fully ironic in nature..
but I think this is gods joke on him

and all his bad retard jokes…

05/10/2004

Author's Note: this was written about my experiences recently.

Posted on 05/10/2004
Copyright © 2025 Aaron Howard