Death’s Duet (lament for the addict)

the dance is waiting

instrument picks up instrument

the waltz begins

one two three,

one … two… it’s the same every day

the violin plays but the music is scarred.

some days I am not the one

who holds this heavy bow.

the music will not be rushed

he knows time is on his side.

the smallest opening,

he slips inside, tears me from within

exposing bones,

plucking tendons

a maestro of madness settled on his strings

begins

to play his way with me.

sound changes

like tarantulas crawling

on a skeleton thin glass table

tic tic tick… tic tic tick

this is not the music I first heard.

he and I continue

this sickly death’s duet

but arms so worn from playing

tired of tired out notes

I have no strain left in me and feel

the opening close

too late.

the music has been written

the very last note drawn

a lonely string plucked one last time this waltz

is over

by colleen hannah

I have lived a life of differences, each one leading me to where I am today. One of those differences, one sometimes I would like to forget, is depicted here. I have learned so much from my journey though and each step taken, whether off the track  or not has brought me to the people who love me for who I am. I could not be more grateful. I know though, as I say in one of the lines in my poem that sometimes we learn too late. I am just so very happy that I was able to finish the duet before the music ended.

The Smile of the Electrically Challenged

℞

Cubed up white screen

memory blares

Hum drum white noise

sticks to the brain

Plain jane white robe

on switch thrown

head thrown back

beepbeep… beepbeep…

electrically convulsive, don’t you think?

monitor off

memory fades

da da da dah… cue forever smile!

What am I smiling about?

Never mind dear

Now give us that cheer

That’s the smile we like to see – the smile

of the electrically challenged.

℞

Once upon a long time ago, I had the max set of E.C.T. treatments allowed at the time, I am not certain I would be here if I did not. But it is a treatment that (for me) stole a lot of my short-term memory, but given the same circumstances (the same all-encompassing depression with no end in sight) I would do it all over again. Now 12 years later, the treatments are much lighter, much less damaging to the memory, and in smaller doses. So please do not let my memories of those days, in this, or any other poem I may write, scare you off if you feel Electric Convulsive Therapy might be a treatment you need. I believe it saved my life, and what’s a little memory shaved off the top compared to that… hmm?