A Journey Of Death

To Live as Death

Can you hear me if I speak? Feel me, as I brush my hand against you?

I doubt it.

Even as I touch you now you feel only the cold as it brews on your skin, the goosebumps that rise as you are disturbed by the hands of others wanting to shake you from your deathly slumber but provoking no less response than my own.

You lie as a corpse before me, neither living or dead. Just a pallid grey body that still draws breathe despite its every effort to end. To put an end to the pain that grows with every beat of a saddened heart, with a mind that only craves release. Yet why do none present see this? Are they truly blind... or simply blinded.

There is a sadness here that does not get acknowledged.

It is with toneless drones that this body is kept alive, dull notes that drone on, driving the ones sat around to hope. Hope that death has been driven away.

I would save them this misery, if only I could tell them I was here, to warn them that death has lingered here constantly, never once being driven away. But that is just an empty dream, at least death leaves an impact, while I do not.

They leave you now as all will do. They come to show what I can only assume to be their love and support, to be with your corpse near its end, to ease the passage as a life fades, not knowing or wanting to admit that they only sit their for themselves. Why don't they choose to do more than sit and watch... to more than mistake your suffering for surviving?

This body wasn't always a corpse, it had a name, a family, it had life. Now it is a cloud of dread in a semi- concious mind, shrouded by the call of death that hovers, powerless to speed up such a delayed call. Those intolerant, unfeeling, toneless machines there for something after all as they stretch and move a turbulent chest. Does this count as granting life, or simply tearing it beyond recognition.

This corpse had a name.

Elicia.

I have watched Elicia long enough to see the seasons change beyond her mired windows, to hear the sounds of frivolity as they descend to that of a chilly breathe and hushed steps. We even share secrets together, kept away from that droning monstrosity. I have sat in the chairs on which her lovers proclaim their undying devotion, only to watch them leave satisfied with their efforts as they do not return until guilt demands it. We have even shared the bed in which she lays, my whimsical body useless to warm her heart as she suffers, lying prone, stiff in life with only the tears on her cheeks to wet her skin. No lovers remaining for their love had dwindled, subdued by time as they leave her behind, unwilling to truly commit.

But still I remain, for I see Elicia as I do myself.

Abandoned.

Stuck.

Removed from all as our only choice is to look in, unable to truly feel or experience, I am even jealous of Elicia. At least she had the chance to live, to feel a sensation of touch, to draw and gasp with the waning of day. Until that was stripped from her, like so many others lying around, all isolated from life as even death is denied them.

This is 'his' interference again, too many times have I experienced this. Of early ends due to the interference of 'him'. The one who has reaped before time, seeking something but fuelling nothing more than his own desire.'His' actions have led to this mockery of death around me, it's not just Elicia that lies still, but thousands. All kept alive by solitary machinations as they slowly gather dust, abandoned by all except death.

I have been here for far too long, in this hovel of abandonment, suffering the consequences of another's actions.

My patience has grown thin.