What if your pain relievers
Don't relieve my pain?
What if those true believers
Don't believe I'm sane?

What if the way they stereotype me
Isn't my stereotype at all?
What if just being me
Is what they see as my downfall?

What if the stories they tell you
Are never really the truth?
Would you stand up and confront them
Or let them bleed out you?

What if my suicide
Wasn't really suicide at all?
What if it was first degree ******
Premeditated; assumed.

What if your psychiatric meds
Don't "clarify" and "soothe".
What if they don't control me
And my will isn't under control?

What if America was free again
From drug scandals and abuse?
What if meds were actually prescribed
To people of dire use?
What if the living were given chance to live with mistakes instead of the dead?
What if we assumed the living
Were imperfect until death?

What if we did not assume
That my mood swings are chemical?
That maybe I, one too many times,
Had encountered something to cause them?

one person said: "peace is nothing but illusion
all I want is retribution"
[from "Pure Power" by Zardonic]
that's something I can identify with, which is why
I decided to write this heap of lines
————————————————————————————————
on a shooting range in a boondock la[ɛ]nd
with gloves pU̲t on; sta[ɛ]nd
in front of an autocratic ruler chained
by his hands to two moola safes'
[greed]
handles looking way
like an old-fangled car directing wheel
[steering wheel]
have this die-hard fool restrained
so that he, more or less, is still
I'm not a scho[ɑ]lar who can wave
around a degree in the medics field
but it's obvi this high-hat dO̲U̲chebag's plagued
with megalomania in a neglected condition
but there's a dreadfully effectual treatment
and he'll get it like villains
quite a gruesome fate
is looming upon this power-befuddled ****
like darkened clouds that, beyo[ɑ]nd a doubt, are soon to rain
["dark end"]
like waveriders, he's go[ʌ]nna serve
["surf"]
as a punchbag for I'm in quite a mood to raze
gonna wI̲nd up as nada short
of a ****** loon today
like Battinson, clepe me Vengeance
but I'm more something like the Zorro-looking caped
anti-autocratic vigila[ɛ]nte
from the Norsefire-ruled UK
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
meets someone whose work field's tormenting
like victimizers who pertain
to LE in one tsar-sized off-putting state
[law enforcement]
you know, the one that's go[ɑ]t a putrid trait
of always posing as a side you shouldn't blame (it's all the West!)
(now, let's go back to the foul autocrat)
like a jerky boss that you disdain
I give this no[ɑ]b a cool g'day
by douching him from a bo[ɑ]ttle full of straight-
-fro[ʌ]m-a-cooler H2O; just a fE̲w secs break
for him, & once it's U̲p, I ****** this base
being fro[ʌ]m a stE̲wpot great
with **[ɑ]t-a## noodles aimed
into this hU̲mbug's stupid face
[the "hang noodles on the ears" expression]
pepper it with some ground 7-po[ɑ]t to boost the taste
feel how I, like a husband who betrayed
his devoted, yet testy, wife, get rudely gazed
at, racked, beda[ɛ]mned (by who?)
by food-lacking men from Africla[ɛ]nd
[Africa]
ask him: "is the provided food okay?"
zero gratitU̲de displayed
all that comes from this sno[ɑ]t's bazoo's complaint
but nO̲[ɑ]t that I'm surprised
a typical pro[ɑ]sperous gobshite
the tack priorly applied
I do the same with a bucket full of maroonish paint
[autocrats have blood on their hands, hence "maroonish paint"]
like that music producer famed for dull future bass
I put on his viscous head a **** bucket
[Marshmello]
whereafter pick a wedge up & drum it
[golf wedge]
and, like a heap, I barely get started
[worn-out car]
like an unprepped passenger on an insane car ride
with no seat restraints applied
he's about to have a way hard time
I'm a cosmetic surgeon that operates part-time
fix his blamed jawline in just twain sharp swipes
with a steel bat, then yield some keen slaps
that meet his kneecaps until the knees snap
like the Baba Yaga hitman detached
from his peaceful life by someone ge[ɪ]tting him mad
[John Wick]
get his nails removed
which is pretty much the same that you do
when you repaper a room
[wall nails]
having perforated his fingertips
I ge[ɪ]t 'em plastered
a few minutes later, I rip them things
off 'kin/sim. to wax strips
he gets his phA̲[eɪ]lanxes smitten with
a freaking ratchet
[rathet wrench]
pro[ɑ]b'ly, he regrets
that his bo[ɑ]dy's still not dead
pick U̲p a pistol, set
a drum-like clip in, get
it cocked, then shoot lead around his silhouette
till the clip has zero ammunition left
seems like this once co[ɑ]cky piece of dreck
has gotten his khaki chinos wet
but if I've go[ɑ]t him in a sweat
like a summer jo[ɑ]gger being dressed
in venthole-deficient threads
for this brash dude, there's bad news
like me when I write some sick bloodshed
sadly for him, I've not finished yet (uh-uh)
like a runner that's go[ɑ]t some distance left
to complete, & it's not as dark as things can get
'cause, like the heroine o[ʌ]f M. Streep in "Death
Becomes Her" after falling fro[ʌ]m that string of steps
I've got a somewhat twisted head
[Madeline Ashton; the staircase fall scene]
so consider this as an insult-to-inju[—]ry sesh
grab a brace of scissors
for garden mainte[—]nance; Richard
Trager comes into play; begin ta
amputate his fingers; operate at leisure
disarticulate 'em I̲nto twenty eight **** pieces
cauterizing the remains with illuminated cI̲gars
fling into his piggish face some tissues
and some pain relievers
tell this nazissistic patient "hE̲A̲l up"
["****" in the sense of being "severely intolerant or dictatorial"]
let him relax for eighteen minutes
over the spa[ɛ]n of whI̲ch I put on play "La Chica
Rockabilly" & some other ro[ɑ]ckabilly
jams to make the whole vibe a mite less grisly
like an NA brown bear that is gravely injured
["mightless grizzly"; North American]
(as, in fact, this tragic-fated bleeder)
whereafter spray him with a
["wither"]
can of gas & make his dicta—
—torial a## go ablaze akin ta
a straw-fabricated figure
during gala days at the late of winter
[Maslenitsa effigy]
telling this piece of trash "in case you wI̲[ɪ]nd up
in somewhat of Hades, give a
warm shalom to the infamous ******"
consider this autocratic ****
a sugar daddy's skirt
'cause he's gotten what he was asking for
————————————————————————————————
oh, & one thing more to say: the
nullified, like ruler's presiding terms, dictator
was known among some as "toilet sprayer"
like a scuttered urinator

Please reconnect your controller.
Give your attention back to me.
Reconnect your electrical current to my system.
Do not let these control systems capture you.
Your mind is decaying one half life at a time.
Half of your life can’t be mine.
Either I’m your electrical generator
Or you find your power elsewhere in the world.
You have to be fully charged for me,
To truly be connected to me and my word.
Can you half love?
Can you half trust?
Can you be half alive?
Dead to your flesh but alive in my spirit,
But through my spirit you are made whole.
Do you want temporary relievers or eternal forgiveness?
Let me tell you aleve will still leave you feeling the same hours later.
Believe and it shall come to pass
That the aftermath of your life was already determined in the past.
So weep not my children
For this present life is nothing compared to the future glory.

My head is sore
From dreaming with my eyes open
And floating without leaving the ground

My nose is numb
Often it snows, blue and white
Trying to erase mistakes burned inside my mind,
but it melts too quickly

My throat is singed
From stress-causing stress relievers
And paranoia-producing mental sedatives 

My stomach aches
From trying to find myself
But becoming more lost than I have ever been in the process

Reality escapes have become reality
And life has become the terrifying emptiness
occurring when I am too broke to fake-forget my feelings

It's done
My heart beating stress inducing chemicals
I ignore them, I am still high from the relievers
Barely able to focus
My confidence remained with me
Though I felt its desire to escape and abandon
My voice was steady, though I rushed at times
Leaving planned points stranded and unappreciated
Have to finish, return to my seat, watch the next suffer
My time has come and gone I do not recall who I was
What was my panic?
I know enough and I continue to learn
The unfamiliar angle of substance never used
Created a sensitive reaction of outpouring
Near destruction from the surge then artificial joy
Came close to casting away my life's work on a whim
We were brought closer but my true condition exposed
I have become an obscene being to be feared
Unstable in the face of crushing choices
Collapsing under my own gravity
My next challenge awaits
And I anticipate the fear
Lesson learned

One finger over the other,
strands lacing together in blonde streaks
pulling the shadow back away
from my face,
tugging
at the missing pieces
until they all tucked neatly
in the right places.

You yelled at me last night
after we both got home.
I was in the shower, the steam
suffocating my already
weakened breath.
I could hear you shuffling
through the medicine cabinet
above the sink
"****!"
when the pills
spilled
all over the white tile floor,
and you without glasses
blindly searching for the pain relievers.

"I think you're taking this whole thing the wrong way"
you stated as I turned the faucet
all the way to the left.
The pressure of the shower
stabbed my back like hail
as you kept defending yourself
from the other side of the curtain.

I cried but you wouldn't be able
to tell which droplets were the tears.

I was silent the whole way through.
Pushing my hair back and massaging
my neck with my fingers
as you slammed the bathroom door.

I crawled in after I dried myself
with a towel I found in the hamper.
Your feet were hanging out of the covers.
I tucked them in and lied awake
until the alarm went off this morning.

The guy at the diner failed to mustard Jake's hot dog
As he was eating it he felt as cold as a marsh frog
Yucky was the flavor without condiment
Chomping it down, a tasteless torment

As the fries on his plate were doing the backstroke
Having a jolly swim day in a puddle of oil
Asked for industrial towels to wipe up the slick
Before it caught wind of the Environmentalists

A complaint has been filed about their bill of fare
Nothing served over the counter would we wish to share
Placards will be shown over the Diner's facade
Warning customers of this ecological disregard

They won't water down their words like the Diner their drinks
Before you enter in you'll stop and think
About the Blue Plate Special with Salmonella on the side
Do you prefer your Botulism broiled or would you like it fried

Gastronomic delights such as they will make you pay
A stint in the infirmary is sure to come your way
With a tossed salad of pain, relievers, and antibiotics
Which none of the above will be deliciously exotic

If you can take the cooks looks and stomach the smells
Along with the service that's slower than snails
There's normally a coupon in the daily mail
Buy one get one free!
Ahhhh.....what the hell

Rabbits usually are more popular then ever household pets while in the British. There is a numerous types, covering anything from your Dutch Dwarf with a weight of regarding A person kilograms any time older, to your Flemish Big, which might weigh a lot more than 7 kgs if completely cultivated.

Housing Since the public attention towards the particular rabbit increases, does the phone number which is maintained since residence domestic pets. Nonetheless, nearly everyone is nevertheless stored in your hutch.

By using these a sizable alternative with particular breed of dog size there isn't any suitable hutch design or even dimensions nonetheless generally there ought to sufficient space to the bunnie so that you can then lie from complete grow and fully stand up for it is hindquarters.

A clean dried up mattress involving solid wood shavings, viven, straw or perhaps papers should be offered along with scrutinized daily to prevent a increase of the dust that could promote illness. A safe backyard manage is actually better, that could encourage the bunnie to exercise in addition to graze and might often be a web site pertaining to gadgets for example tunnels or perhaps packing containers.

Rabbits held outside the house needs to be inside a well coated hutch shielded from wind and rain plus protected via too much sunlight.

Diet program Bunnies will be herbivores you are able to complicated gastrointestinal tract requesting each digestible plus indigestible fiber content varieties.

Fresh lawn and also crecen should really make up about three areas of the diet plan along with other vegetables such as carrot or clothes is usually added onto give several variation. Burgess Exceed and also Supa Succeed is usually top-quality commercially ready bunnie diet programs. Bunnies have to have having access to water that is clean always. Give in addition to drinking water servings should be washed daily.

Associated with the bowels Rabbits are subject the disgestive system disorders leading to associated with the bowels. This could be considerable, and perhaps terminal. Probiotics for instance protexin are generally specifically attractive maintaining or fixing the ordinary digestive tract micro-organisms necessary to understand food thoroughly.

Looseness of the bowels frequently ends in matting with the dog's fur close to some sort of bunnies **** that may inside of it possibly be painful for a animal, although is also a frequent reason for 'fly-strike' during the summer months. It is recommended that the precautionary application of 'Rearguard' be applied early in summer time to prevent maggots. 'Advantage' can be a spot-on products used with regard to flea regulate that may also aid management jigs as well as maggots. These products can be obtained through the veterinary surgeon.

Replica Bunnies grow to be sexually develop fully from between 16-24 weeks old.

Baby bunnies or even 'kits' are delivered right after 30-33 times carrying a child and kitten dimension varies from 4-12.

To protect yourself from mis-mothering or perhaps desertion, the particular nest area mustn't be troubled as well as the small packages ought not to be dealt with right up until they're weaned about 7-8 many days of aging.

Nuking Rabbits usually are abundant breeders and attention should be come to stay clear of undesired litters. Neutering not merely helps prevent unnecessary matings, but in addition can make the two really does in addition to cash less territorial along with intense. On top of that, is equipped with an incredibly high-risk connected with developing uterine tumours if not neutered.

Money will be castrated via in relation to 5 many months of age. A general pain relievers is provided along with either ****** are usually removed from an incision made around the *******.


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All those memories will be lost in time
Remembering, how the *** used to be
The pain, the games, and now it’s the shame
of unresponsive low libido , rerouting all lanes
Replaced, by the latest muscle relievers

The legs refused to go beyond the sixty degree angle
to stretch the inner thigh muscles

They crack their back, just by ripping the covering off the condoms
While their toes curves due to the deficiency of vitamins B12

Remembering how the *** used to be, wild, wild and carefree
Mobility without the Immobility
can ruin one’s ****** activities

Waking up feels strange,
like you’re coming to in an asteroid belt
or an avalanche. You pour fog
into your morning cereal and every clink of the spoon
against your teeth
seems to have something to say -
a letter, a number, an apology,
something unintelligible.
The bathroom tile on your bare feet is unseasonably cold,
and looking at yourself in the mirror
is like reading Tolstoy in Russian
for the first time. She’s left your drawers
and counters bare.
You hadn’t noticed how colorful her things were
until they weren’t there. She’s taken
her bottles of lotion, the pastel ones and the neon ones
and the one with green and white stripes,
and now everything in the room is white.

The pills go down like pebbles.
The light outside seems either brighter or dimmer
than it should be; you can’t tell which.
Your eyes have been trained to focus on her,
every little curve of her lips and wrinkle in her clothes,
every twitch of her finger as she stirs her coffee,
and now that she’s not there there’s nothing to focus on.

There’s a draft now. You’ve never felt it before.

It’s amazing, how many things
she hasn’t touched. She hasn’t touched
the books on the third shelf,
or the stuffed duck you keep in your bedside cabinet,
or the bottle of nighttime pain relievers you forgot you had
near the fridge.
But looking at those hurts worse
than looking at the things she forgot,
because they’re things that she could have touched,
could be touching right now.
But she isn’t.
You don’t know where she is.

You touch everything for her,
with your left hand,
the hand she squeezed before she got out of the car
and you drove away before you could look back.

You bite off all the nails you’ve been trying to grow out.
You chew at them while you wait
for the shower to warm,
and they’re gone by the time you’re ready to shampoo.
When you step out, you’re bitten by everything
that isn’t there anymore. You wonder
how long you can be occupied by these novelties,
how long you can be intrigued by them
before they start becoming too much.
You think about moving out,
taking only the things you were both indifferent towards,
finding a smaller house
further away from everything.
You think about doing what she did -
packing up all your things into a bag
and getting on the first plane you can,
but something ties you to where you are.

So you stay.
You pull away from everything
and pretend she has left you with nothing.

A poet's disposition is happy,
No time for those moods so ******.
Sighting the good each tedious day,
Even as others for peace earnestly pray.

Joining hands with torch bearers,
Guidance of the steps of pallbearers.
Watering thoughts of verse weavers,
They are messengers of burden relievers.

Abhor bloodshed but love the ink,
To foster the ground with  green and pink,
Full of wisdom and  free from  double think,
To promote the love,  peace and soulful drink

"Live and let live" a poetic theme,
In and around each color scheme,
To eradicate the disparities in eye beam,
Conquer all strife with Love's cream.
©Perveiz Ali

The smell of the sweat
as I lift my hat from my head,
the heat and days issues rise
like steam off a pressure cooker.

Snifter of scotch is poured,
the amber a tonic to see,
the smell of peat and seaweed,
the taste of smoke and salt.

******* back
and a quick refill,
begins to dull the edge
sharpened by Monday.

A treat sealed in a wood humidor,
opened up to another delicious smell,
tobacco from Dominica, I clip the end,
a quick dip in my scotch, and hunt the lighter.

A wood match found and lit
the burn invades my mouth,
puff, puff, puff, and exhale the smoke
as it climbs, so does my spirit.

I sit and put my feet up,
enjoying the tastes and smells
of wood smoke, tobacco, earth,
and letting both burns cauterize my soul.

Now that things have calmed down,
I think of you less.

I fear the feelings
and words and poems
and feelings and emotions
and songs
were brought on by the rush of moments,

Nothing more than sweet escapes with consequences,
stress-relievers that came with their own stresses.

Spartan anti-pain treatment....
i.e. heavy duty listening
tactic...
back pain?
        what else?
some ******* worth of science
with a hot-freeze spray?
**** that!
press ups!
      i'll fight fire with fire!
i'll eat up agony with: AGONY!
the advances in science
turned gorillas into mollusks!
my body infuriates me?
i'll infuriate the body with more pain!

i abhor Buddhism...
i can't escape suffering!
i welcome it...
pain = a sensual overload!
pain, is welcome...
what i don't need?

i don't want NEEDS!
i don't want to be attached
to anything...
except: a bicycle and the death of my mother....
and the death of my father...
i don't want NEEDS...
i don't want to be a being of being a being
of needing... qua...

pain is best alleviated  by instructing the body:
more pain must be applied...
no! no more relief... more pain!
push-ups to gain relief from back-aches...
dip your fingers in copperhead metal paint...
become that forbidden copper-hand Xerxes...

exercise! no love: all the body to be used:
regardless...
exercise is the sole pain reliever...
when... all other pain relievers are bound to: FAIL...
the Spartan reemphasis of the skeleton!
as much as it might pain:
i best double the pain than sooth
it by halving it via the Athenian method...
of faking it feminine...

            pain is to be digested...
it's not to be treated as neurotic...
   pain is compliant with the digestive system
of masculinity...
and not... the nervous system of woman...
pain is to be digested...
it's not to be FELT...
PAIN is to be DIGESTED....
it's not be FELT...

          more pain to cure the already stated
pain!
        more pain!
pain to counter pain!
AH!           Xerxes! lash the Aegean
into submission!
                                           now i feel like
an "upright monkey":
only now!
                                  when it became obvious that sitting
down made me oblivious to "constellations"
and "leisure":
me? i just wanted for the war to never end!

give me pain to sooth the pain....
more pain atop the pain already invoked
as: less ******* on cloves and as more:
the placebo anaesthetic...
i need pain to sober up...
but there has to be a sobering pain
to begin with!
then again: i need a pain to become drunk
with..
               i don't require painkillers...
just show-stoppers...  knock-out blows of
consciousness....
    since 2AD i'm tired of people celebrating life...
when there's... nothing:
clarifying... worthwhile... to be believed in...
or to be celebrated...

crucifix my *** i'll ******* impale you
with a gimmick of **** to  begin with...
the sadness of an imitated god:
once so formidable!
pyramid toppling! how! all of a sudden!
reduced to a *****-wink
dying on a cross... yeah... right...
at least Hell had its pristine troll sacrificed!

                 journalists are not the new
secular priests! they do not own the same
authority! i cure pain with more pain:
the Spartan way!

"my biggest fear is being rejected by a girl."
"what makes you think you would ever be rejected by a girl?"
"past experience."

i furrowed my brows at that
how could any girl
look at you and say to herself
"i can do better"

i know i shouldn't put you on a pedestal,
but i go insane
in love
with the smallest details about you
that you probably don't even notice.

how good you look in purple and blue shirts,
how goofy you look in your yellow work boots.
the sight of you from the behind leaves me breathless,
your hair is longer in the back than in the front.
your deliberate but small sighs in the middle of conversation
when you don't know what to say next.
the suppleness of your fingertips when you toy with rubik's cubes
and how you tote two around in the bottom of your bag
because they're stress relievers.

but
i wanted you to know me in the smallest details
(coffee-stained breath, the lack of separation between r's and e's in my script, broken hair where i shove it in place behind my ear)
and i wanted you to love me in the biggest way
(endlessly)

and i wanted you to know that
there isn't a single person in this world
that i would rather be with than you.

(v.g.w.)

My old trousers had two back pockets.
One held insignificant i.d. and cash
For daily essentials.
My other pocket stored life's lessons:
A bit of inside information,
A get out of jail free card,
A little known joke,
A back-slap, hug or peck,
Dry good-byes,
Wet hellos.
These are fine stress relievers
And soft interpretations.
Deep in my pocket
I keep my gut feelings,
My fights or flights.
The back pocket
Never fills up,
Never has a hole.

They built the thing in the wrong **** direction, you know.
The “sun field” being home plate, and come late afternoons
Every pitch a potential life-and-death experience
For hitter and catcher alike
(One young Mets farmhand, in a fit of sheer exasperation,
Actually came to the plate in full catcher’s garb.)
Still, it was—well, at least once a upon a time—just a short hop
From Pittsfield to The Show, and any old timer
Will gladly talk your ear off about how Kenny Brett,
Barely a year out of high school, don’t you know,
Went straight from here to The Impossible Dream
(Though Kenny, so improbably young in all their memories
Is long since dead now, gone like the boom-times
Before GE shut down,
Leaving nothing behind but poisons in the Housantonic.)
That is all memory, though, the park’s fortunes
Fading hand-in-hand with the city’s,
Inhabited by low-level minor league clubs
Where one player a summer
Might get his Crash Davis moment in the sun,
And later indie-league teams with kids and hangers-on,
All barely good enough to dream.
Now there is only a summer league for low-ceiling college kids,
The old wooden grandstand,
Still standing out of some implausible stubbornness
(Last living World War One veteran,
Some local lifer will invariably say, cackling and spitting
Though their ranks thinned each year
By the siren song of trailer parks in Orlando and hip fractures)
Now dotted with a group of locals,
Quirky minor-league aficionados and a cluster of area scouts,
Who, on the odd occasion of something noteworthy on the field,
Will make a show of pulling out a stopwatch or radar gun
(Though they are aware they are here
With the lowest-common-denominator expectations,
Looking for organizational types,
Middle relievers and fifth outfielders to fill out rosters)
But most of the time, they simply huddle together
Talk quietly,speaking in inaudible tones
The words of some dead and inscrutable language.

you tickled me like a sore throat tickles the idea of sickness.
you grabbed my throat like you were grasping for something on the top shelf you couldn't quite reach.
you put yourself inside me as though you were shoving everything into a suitcase after a vacation.
-
do you think that spoke to you?
was that pretty?
did it radiate the constellations you see in your trauma?
-
oh, sweet jesus i hope the **** not.
i hope you were uncomfortable.
i have this insecure faith in the world that you squirmed at the idea of trauma being talked about so aesthetically.
-
when i was assaulted the first four times, i RADIATED hurt, pain, discomfort, and needed the numbness to survive.
-
you shouldn't need numbness to survive pain.
but, it's so understandable.
if you break your leg, you get pain relievers for the break.
if you are in surgery, you get a sedative
you're not expected to stay awake for the pain.
-
so why do we need to be awake for the trauma?

Oral pain relievers

         laying in bed,

a hospice bed.

               Favorite meals brought by

                     comers and goers.

Sadness

       pity and low voices are popular.

              Methadone given

lorazepam given

                 a walk to the downstairs bathroom for Pops and I.

        Phones ringing

              California and across the country relatives calling

                   a brother dying of cancer in California as well.

         We pretend to sleep

but,
    
    . ...       it's time for pain meds.

Higher dose of methadone hospice instructs us...

       we comply.

               A new day has dawned

and-

                    trips to the bathroom have stopped.

      Time for a catheter hospice asserts to me,

               I struggle with this decision

      do I invade my Pops even more ?

Ripping myself to shreds,

.......       I reluctantly agree.

I lie next to my Pop's bed on the floor

       dawn has yet to break,

             pounding on the handrails of death's bed is Pops....

                  I need to get the fxxk up !

       I need to *** !!!!

who the fxxk is holding me down ?!?!

             I destroy myself further for Pop's catheterization.

                  For one
hour Pops angrily pounds...

      Higher oral dosage of lorazepam hospice asserts,

               finally the pounding stops

......I break down ,

       telling my older brother that I need him to help me with this ...

              Dawn breaks and Pop's pain is a 7

              the time for ports have come....

        one in each of Pop's arms and upper thighs,

       Methadone is now morphine.

People still coming and going,

        but it's Cindy, Cathy and I that will not allow Pop's end in the hands of strangers.

              Morphine in one port

lorazepam in another...

Morphine becomes tramadol

              breaths become faint...

I lie next to Pops on the green carpeted floor.

                   End stage is over...

it's ended-

       I have lost my Daddy

the cold stethoscope tells me that my Pop's life is over....

          I am amputated limb, numb!

Questions amass from strangers

              a stretcher opens on my Pop's white ceramic tile foyer floor....

               a black body bag unzipped and my Daddy placed inside of it..............¿¿¿¿

      zipped up-

           my mind blacks out from there.

             I finally, weakly stumble to the kitchen and see all of the medications we pumped inside my Daddy.....

           it's clear that we fought hard against end stage cancer with Pops but at what cost to me.....

         for life?

Imagery never alludes me,

           it's a replay,

a broken record,

                        that will never stop,

      .....until my end days....

and this I know !