#terminal
just
passing time
many days
lingering
like a dew drop
resting on a bloom
waiting for
that moment
of evaporation
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 11:31 PM UTC
The small black wristband
Affixed to my wrist.
It used to bother me so
Every time I noticed my forearm.
But not because
I chose this little fate.
But for the reason that all those around
Stare down at it too.
I suppose they find it strange
To chose one such ending.
So much so,
It's become what's defined me.
And I stay somewhat stranded
In my lonely little world
Of impending doom
And misunderstanding.
Lately, however,
I've tried to socialize,
But I'd like to make it clear I said "tried".
I met a boy
But he was different by being the same.
Matching friendship bracelets,
He likes to say.
I guess it means we both die our own way.
To chose is something not many
Concur to.
This boy I quite favor,
And I think he does too.
At times we lay together
In the echo of machines.
He tells me my hair is soft
As he combs through it mindlessly.
I'm sorry I can't return the compliment.
The small black wristbands
Affixed to our wrists.
It used to bother me so
But now I mind less.
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 10:34 PM UTC
started the day in disparate paces
clustered in a rash
Things began.
Disconcerting reality stroke.
None of us had a way out.
I frowned. I trembled.
It’s getting colder outside.
words coagulated in framed narratives
where I hardly find a way in,
though didn’t put down conversing with them;
I hear their voices resounded
tensions as time terminated.
Scrambled in silence,
It's getting colder inside.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 10:42 AM UTC
{ A convergence of Aldous Huxley and Robert Heinlein,
where waiting for Godot was traditionally done.}
Transmissive functionality fixed rate
to find words for any mindstate
words to physiologize and reify a wish
to be touched back, felt reaching
through the laminated plane flat re-
ality of thought,
through the space betwixt
us, me and you, in the meandering stream
feeling it's way toward the storied yesterdays,
minding many material reasons, whys for how,
whens for now,
then for earlier or later, waiting is time…
at terminal velocity.
Waiting is.
========
Grok is a technical term, you know.
Time is a technical term, too.
When all things worked together, once,
then fell apart
to form mere fanciful guessings,
informative immaterial instructions
for users, musing using local particle facts.
at terminal velocity eventually, we fall
with the evening smoothing
into airless, fretless
soothing irrelevance,
empty states without perspective ups or downs.
Post haste waste reclamation, I'd say it all again, if it gets to here.
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 11:48 AM UTC
I knew she was bad news
when we met
at Terminal One in Vegas,
but my thinking brain
was in limbic limbo
— strong-armed
by the scent of Cinnabon
and new car smell.
You might say we got lucky.
What are the odds of finding
a chapel open at midnight?
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 5:28 PM UTC
Supposing that you didn't need to be terminal, is there a queue?
The cop-out brigade would be cashing in - all the others too;
we've had enough, not only illness but silliness and mindless,
lack of care, selfishness and all those who couldn't worry less.
Could reduce the population, no worry about copulation,
have ten kids if you want, economics, spell it with a 'C' decision;
clear the housing list, no one's bothered if you even get ******
so convenient,Trumps kissed, played last hand in knock-out whist.
The queue is mounting outside that room in Switzerland mon ami,
I'm fed up with my life, I'm going before you can sentence me,
how ironic, free up the prisons, no need for any more decisions,
although cemeteries filling, keep my ashes unless other visions.
The ultimate in democracy, free will, but others moaning still,
there's a waiting list, might die before I die - on Calvary Hill.
Sep 14, 2024
Sep 14, 2024 at 11:34 AM UTC
Know that I know
Failure is unstoppable
The situation is never unlosable
Trust me,
I'm already the biggest loser you know
How did I get over here?
Where do I go from there?
I don't know
How deep can shallow go?
That's probably something you should know
Terminal velocity, terminal illness, hospitality's critical
There's only so fast shit'll flow
Don't you worry though
I'll find the lowest low
Thee frequency is what's incredible
Watch me make the possible impossible
The predictable shockingly unpredictable
Knowing is half the battle
A cartoon told me so
Still waiting for it to help slow the fall though
©2024
May 17, 2024
May 17, 2024 at 6:58 PM UTC
it's all occupied with dark fumes of flatulence
the bus hanger
it's teething and earning a low ceilinged thrive
regularly cleaned the roof portal
with a large drooping eye
brags of blue sky
the coaches are idling
fretful to be burdened and go
elsewhere
the public urinals
there's a strong smell of iron
are the morning users dehydrated
malnourished or ill ?
i feel a little flated
elsewhere
in the waiting area
a neatly turned out teen
wants to give their seat to the infirm
does not and hurts inside averting
(a public act of courtesy
would after all be an embarrassing one)
attention back to the importance
my friend has ungreeted me
i have wished him ease
and he has passed between the cordons
amongst amiable cattle
he pauses at the authorities verification
who in turn
tails them to load up their luggage
and become their driver
- goodbye my friend
Feb 7, 2024
Feb 7, 2024 at 5:57 PM UTC
There's no easy
Way of asking
I already know
What he's going
To say but
Maybe he just
Needs to say it
So I ask
Him anyway
"Are you scared?"
Only smiles
And a patience
I've never seen
In the face
Of someone
Who knows
That they
Are dying
Aug 11, 2022
Aug 11, 2022 at 5:31 PM UTC
If there is another thing beyond this one I shall meet it
Seeing beyond the futures of tomorrows not yet lived
There is a place I feel it I'll meet you there
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 9:41 PM UTC
~
*this once sound vessel
succumbing to agony,
as if scuttled by
a siren at sea,
and in her heart
flutters and sunbeams,
she's not alone
in her dreams,
there's a torch light
with wings, dancing
about her wounds,
it burns of empathy,
but too numb to feel the pain
of her dying rooms,
hereabouts goodbye,
under the silk of anesthesia,
she whispers,
"blade of grass, then away we fly..."*
~
Mar 3, 2021
Mar 3, 2021 at 8:02 PM UTC
Please,
Please don’t leave this way
You don’t know
I don’t have much time left
to stay.
Please give me a hug
Let me hold you one more time
Soon it will be too late
if it goes the predictable way.
Please.......
tears don’t come out
I don’t want to break this heart
Not yet anyway.
Shell✨🐚
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 12:33 PM UTC
After their separation, she used to joke
that they’d get back together when
- and only when - one of them
was on their deathbed. Well, it
wasn’t quite a prophecy, but it did land
painfully close.
Almost fifteen years since they’d last met,
he caught a plane, got picked up from the airport by
a stepson, long estranged, who
brought him to the hospice.
Seeing her there, in a terminal tangle of tubes
pumping drugs into her veins and
oxygen into her riddled lungs, he said:
“But she looks exactly the same,” and
if that isn’t code for, “Yes, I’m
still in love with her,” then
I don’t know
what is.
The next day, he bought her flowers,
fretting over floral symbolism
and how his bouquet could be interpreted.
Their daughter advised,
“Just pick something pretty,” so he chose
pink roses, stargazer lilies. Of course
she loved them. They were
from him.
“Do you remember,” she asked him, as leaves
fell from tall trees outside the window,
“when we were the beautiful people?”
The flowers outlived her,
if you
really want to
talk about
symbolism.
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 2:03 PM UTC
Right hand, labours on. Burdened
by the clay of her body
A stubborn limb.
In tempered skin.
Still, her left
Passed in Spring.
It's gentle palm
Curls open.
Leaning into the
surly revolt of her body.
Summer swirled.
A haze of sun.
And delicate
forget-me-nots
Autumn threatens floods.
Swollen clouds loom overhead.
We brace for bitter winds
In the Winter of her life.
And the rain pours.
And the rivers carve a map.
And the days pass.
Searching the blur of her body.
A ****** wristwatch throbs
Pulsing past a beating heart
Mocking mottled skin.
And the rain pours.
And strength settles into the seat.
A soft creak of leather
Warms the room.
whispers of my presence
Saturate the cell walls
of her coma.
And the rain pours.
And unearths an infinite truth
A graceful dance. She flees
The wreckage of her broken body,
Expired lungs exhale all suffering.
A parting gift.
And the light guides.
And she sets sail.
And the light guides.
A compass tears through swollen skies.
And the rain pours.
And the floods rise.
And the banks burst.
And the rain pours.
And the rapids
Drag me into the gutter.
By Anna Grace Du Noyer
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 2:26 PM UTC
Swish, thump, swoosh. I jump !
How could I best keep the rope
From around my neck.
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 4:46 PM UTC
Dying is not a crime
But for playing God
I'll probably do time
Pretty little euthanasia
My disconnected phone
Always going home
That open window
To the fire escape
I am the center of a lake
The kids next door
Liked to play with me
Now we don't see them anymore
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 4:58 AM UTC
The words hiding behind my mouth are cradled in my soft hands
Hold them, feel their heat, decode the messages under my skin,
Each of them from a language you cannot even recognize;
The familiar sights of home are nothing but
Empty bottles of knowledge kept away in a box only I hold the key to;
Run towards me and please please please listen to me, for
My words cannot bridge the gap between us although
I have tried; with
No clamor in the background,
Ask me to repeat myself once more, and please please please
Listen to me.
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 9:43 AM UTC
have you ever
had cancer?
in your brain?
did it hurt?
did you cry?
i would actually
like to know.
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 8:11 PM UTC
She writes to him in the hospice,
his widow-in-waiting. A girl at her care home
brings her envelopes, colourful pens, sheets of paper in
pastel shades, and takes her missives to
Reception to go out with the mail.
She writes to him, keeping her messages short so
the nurses have time to read them to him, and because
he gets tired so quickly now.
She encloses copy photographs for the nurses to
show to him, pictures of their adventures together:
them in hiking boots and toting backpacks atop a
Saxon burial mound; picnicking and almost sunburnt
beside a vast lake reflecting a perfect, bygone blue sky
in its tranquil surface; on a sandy Welsh beach, building a
campfire from smooth, soft-grained, bone-pale driftwood; him
asleep on a train, his head resting on luggage
and hat pulled down over eyes.
In one communiqué she writes:
“I’m sorry you took the mountains with you.”
She means – she explains to the care home girl
who brings her stationery and takes her mail – that
when he moved to the hospice and she to the care home,
all the photos of their mountain holidays – the Vogelsberg,
the Dolomites, Monte Rosa, Chamonix – had been
packed up along with his possessions, and put in storage
by his family. She sends him copies of
the only photos she has left.
And that is what she means, but not just that.
It’s been a long time since she stomped mud off of
hiking boots, or felt that gorgeous ache in her muscles
from a long, hard climb, or kissed in a cable-car,
or let the wind tan her face as she breathed
rarefied air. Those summits seem very far away,
and the woman who once scaled them never could have dreamed
that life could become so flattened.
In some quiet room, a nurse shows him the photographs.
A heart monitor describes
a craggy range of peaks and dips; each elevation, every ascent,
could be a terminal journey. Soon, one surely will.
The nurse can’t tell if he hears her as she reads to him,
“I’m sorry you took the mountains with you.”
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
We stood cold and frozen in the rain
Raindrops hiding the tears you've shed
Heads are bowed low, hearts broken to pieces
Our bodies locked tight in a last embrace
Your breathing felt warm yet faint
Our minds went blank and confused
As much as we don't want to let go
The rift between us grows wider by the second
As I held your small, fragile face up
I can't help but stare at the fading light in your eyes
We just had to lean in for one last sweet kiss
Let the last spark of passion between us dissipate
As I try to let you go, you begged with dear life
As I struggled to resist your plea, I knew I wouldn't win
Even as I said goodbye, my arms were wrapped tight
Frozen in place with you in between them
With all the strength I had left in my heart
I turned my back to the sweetest memories we shared
But you desperately clung to every fiber of my being
I knew in my heart how badly I still wanted to stay
With all the voice you still had left
You screamed your final "I love you's"
I knew they're enough to make me turn around
But this time, we need to let each other go
As I walked away dragging my resisting feet
and I struggled to run away from your embrace
God knew how it crushed the life out of me
As I broke free from your heavy gravity
As I let you go, it took every cell in my being
Every muscle in my body rebelled against me
But because I love you with everything I have
Letting go was the only way to save you from my destruction
As I let you go, all memories of us surged like flash floods
Every smile of yours etched in my mind and heart
All of your kisses that I know I will never feel again
All those feelings broke out as tears fell from my eyes
I missed you every night in every dream
You haunted me in every way I couldn't imagine
Letting you go was my life's biggest regret
But to see you broken in my last moments, that I cannot bear
As heaven took my last breath away
Your small smiling face solely gave me ease
I know I won't be able to embrace you in this life again
So please wait for my return on our next chance
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
in 12 hours exactly
life will take a new turn
i hope it's finally
towards happiness
-- Watercolour
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
Treatable, but
incurable.
Take one pill twice a day,
probably for the rest of your life.
There's no guarantee
on how many days, months, years
you've got left.
You could feel fine one week,
then have Death on speed dial the next.
Of course, they tell you the
survival rate is very high.
So you sit there in the dark,
but hey, you're alive, right?
The doctors don't use the word 'terminal'
when diagnosing you.
But, then again, they don't have to.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC
I wake up with a headache
I knew I shouldn't have stayed up so late
'twas so foolish to hope that I'd understand your game
I know what I gotta do
Too lazy to get outta bed for you
And gulp it down with a glass of water to ease this pain
I see now what I saw before
I didn't know what it was for sure
Till it worked just like paracetamol
I woke up
There it was
Once that killed
Without a cause
Those dreams that turned into nightmares
Those arms that gave away time shares
Feels like history since the last time I needed help but still
There's life waiting to be celebrated
It's no longer so complicated
Thanks to my prayers from the day I wanted more from life
And for the small white pill
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC