Hallway to Death
She drank a bottle
of vodka
after the doctor
refused
to give her any more
Percosets.
We found her
on the floor
with a broken
wrist.
At the hospital
she complained
of snakes invading
her room
and hitching themselves
to her underarms
and wrapping
around her chest.
There was a broken pipe
under her bed
flooding the room.
Every nurse
was eyeing her man
and he was chasing
all of them. Weeks
later the hallucinations
eased. She remembered
nothing. And even
a stint in rehab
wasn't enough for her
to muster the willpower
to live without pills
and alcohol. She
has lost weight.
Her skin looks healthier
now that she's not
all dehydrated. Her back
is feeling better.
She's eighty years old.
But her remaining years
seem like an empty
corridor she has to walk
down alone
if she has to be clean.
8 comments:
Maybe you always have to walk that corridor alone..whether you are 38..or 80..I love the clipped pace in this piece..an urgency that can perhaps only be seen from the outside..powerful write..Jae
WOW!
The grip of addiction knows no age. It is sad but to be set free from that one must muster all within to walk that corridor.
Wonderful write.
Blessings
the grip of addiction is all powerful. glad she's getting clean.
You've predicted a bleak, tho well-written, future. Good post.
You have captured the disease of addiction perfectly.
This is brilliant and does give voice to so many sad and lonely oldies trying to cope on their own or choose unsuitable remedies.
That was so sad.
..as a caregiver, i am speechless... "..slip sliding away..." paul simon sed that
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