3/15/23
the rattling of machines that sound too much like the the ground unearthing beneath your feet and the mockery of what you sick fucks call a “heartbeat” fill the room with another straight line, rounded edge, spike, flatline, spike. icy blues that scream “get me out of here” in overwhelming belligerence, balled up fists that bare no fruit, repulsed by the hospital bed. when you cant tell periwinkle wires and violet blue veins apart and when your father looks like a sad child for the first time in his life you know that your time has come to an end, but you couldn’t really call it living anyway. you’re an extension of a machine, all mechanical parts, this is the new world except it wasn’t made for you. they’ll say a prayer to a god you’ve denounced and call it righteous when they didn’t even do it right.
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phantom heartbeat plagues my vision, antagonizing pace; open, closed, expand decrease, rib meet cage. mouth agape, eyes swollen, bruise, scab, bruise, scab, bruise, scab, blood. how are you bleeding if ur not breathing? at least the machines aren’t keeping you captive anymore, slave to the gurney and the devil dressed in blue right beside all of you. no more numbers on the screen, no lines, no axis of symmetry, blank, it’s all blank from here.