her eyes,
once warm with love
are now empty
filled with fear and confusion

her hands
once soft and tender to touch
are now cold
grasping onto the remains of life

her body
once able to waltz with such elegance and grace
are now two distant concepts
left behind almost as an irretrievable memory

her brain
once able to acknowledge even the darkest concepts
remains clueless as
she looks blankly at the term 'dementia'

I like the little one.

They are ready so if someone
Comes down here, and says
they, I, well,
would like to see what youve got
I may be interested in them,
in buying some
I'd say, well, sure
so they can look, and see if there is anything they want to purchase.

And they may decide it's nothing they want,
maybe they don't have anything with them
I won't take that
and that's fine by me.
I like the little one.

We made sure t have them all be different
i said, what'S the point if they're the same
I have three metal ones
Can you, well, make sure they are
so nobody will knock them over
so someone can look at all of them and
they won't break.

I got those bells because I enjoy them.
I used to place them around the house so
people could enjoy them
they are in that so people come down here, They can see.

they meant something to me, but nobody else.
and that's fine.
well, if it means something to you, that matters
Yeah.

echoing images pass through aged eyelids.
through deadened nerve and grey matter.
leaving themselves in limbo.
hanging in air.
floating.
captured only in fleeting stills on pages.
unrecognizable.
clouded in murky after thought.
"Remind me again of who that was," it begins.
"Do I know them," it continues.
and with confused silence it ends.

Is it worse to continue to remind someone of what once was
than to just let me go?

I want to learn everything; everything comprises of everything,
be it the knowledge of the nature or the horizons of the cosmos
I want to canvas over the universe, multiverses;
to paint my reality with a brush of joy.
But, it's tough for me, because I'm dementic
If I decline it while inclining towards a book
Dyslexia obliterates my desires and hurt me badly
If I ignore all this, ADHD comes forward to poke me
with a stick of astounds and pains of eventide
If I cut down the roots of ADHD, S.A.D greets me
and enter to my dark world and enhance its darkness
I'm confused, shattered; directionless in a myopic way
Highly myopic, no direction, but I do have vision
I want to crisscross my myopia to an extent
where it diminishes.
Meningitis, shut up, you *******,
Please have mercy on me, I don't deserve U at least,
But do I really need someone to have mercy on me?
I guess no, I can build my own world where
Dementia strengthens my spirits by saying,
Why just Embryology, what secrets do you want to find
Ova is not dependent on a ****** *****,
it is a complete YOU.

I'm tired of waiting,
Just ******* die.
Too harsh?
Perhaps a delicate massage
Before I snap your neck,
Like wringing out a mouse
The cat dragged in,
Its poor beggar body
Broken in the cat's sin.
Perhaps a drink,
Spiked with hatred
Distilled in glass warning
Skulls and crossbones
Tucked behind the tray of biscuits
And endless chocolate ice cream cones.
Is it so hard to do?
Just stop breathing, shut it off,
Stop the heart.
Perhaps you can hold your breath,
Like the countless times I held mine
When I was forced to breathe in yours
While I swabbed your chin,
Dabbing up a dinner
That should have gone straight in.

Just die and get it over with.

I don't mean it.  Not really.

No I don't want you in a home;
They can't care for you like me.
Who will give you all the hugs
That you would give for free?
Its not that they won't care for you,
Or wipe your chin from drool,
Or even change your dress at night
After you had laid a stool.
It's just that they don't love you
And it's my curse to repay
All the love you gave to me
From birth through night and day.

Don't be mad at me,
I don't want you to go,
But I'm so tired of waiting;
No, I know that you don't know.

"Oh, Harry!  Harry is that you?"
The old lady calls to the young man passing by.

"I have looked for you everywhere, but could not find you.  
Why are they keeping me here, Harry?"

And when he pats her hand and bids her goodbye,
his heart is breaking;

For he wishes with all his being to have had her same recognition.

Watching my
demented mother
water plastic flowers
on her porch,
I come near
to seeing my face
before I was born.
~ mce

I never it made it to the moon back
Think I was just trapped
In one perspective
Two three four
Exponentially growing
Like the vines
Against an old brick wall
That tell a story
There’s history hidden in its creaks
There’s hidden lies
In the curves of her lips
And on her hips
And the she lies awake
Because she can barley sleep
Waiting just to die
She lies dormant
In a past state of mind
Or do you think she’s completely lost her mind
Must be scary to deal
With that kind of fight
Can’t be happy waking up knowing not a single bird in sight
Tell me what happened to her life?

Grandma Clarice,
or Chub as I prefer to call her,
is tough as nails.

All 90 pounds of her on her
not-even-five-feet-tall-frame,
she always told the funniest jokes,
and her laugh was one of
those laughs
that just
              reverberated so warm against your
                       eardrums,
contagious like the
common cold,
you couldn't help but catch it.

Chub always made the best pies,
any kind your gluttonous mind could
imagine:
cherry, blueberry, apple, peach, lemon chiffon, anything creamed;
don't get me wrong,
my mama inherited the gene,
her peach pie my absolute favorite
in the summertime,
but still,
mama learned from the master, and Chub was
the master indeed.

Chub was witty,
she was poised,
she was so many things that I
don't even feel like I ever really have figured out
what all she was, she is.
But I can't deny the
memories I have of Chub
smiling
as I played Christmas tunes on the piano,
looking collected and cool as she
whipped up another perfect meal,
her voice inquisitive as she
asked me about school,
the teacher in her proud yet astute.

Chub can't remember anymore,
but I remember for her,
the laughter, the
impeccable odors wafting from her all-white kitchen,
the late night games of Rummikub,
that tough-as-nails Chub who will always
exist in my
memories.