Hollow clock

Tick. Tock.

The beat went on.

Tick. Tock.

My heart metered by the rhythm. My breathing measured by the volume. My mind cosseted by the drugs. My feelings amplified by the time.

Tick tock went the clock.

So here I lay, never moving, never growing, never changing. If only they could see the world through my eyes. Then they’d know. They’d know to switch me off.

I can hear them, but they cannot hear me. If only I could speak to them, let them know I don’t want to go on. If only I could tell them how I feel, how lonely I am. But no. I hear them visit. I hear them offer hollow platitudes to my wife, to my children. My children who do not understand.

How I mourn for them, for their loss, for my loss. It would be easier if they could just let me go. Switch off the machines, my dear, I promise I won’t scream. I won’t hate you for doing that thing you cannot do. Let me die. Let me know the release from this burden.

But no, on goes the clock. Tick tock. Forever measuring the passing of time. Tick tock it goes. Tiny little increments of time that pass by, measuring out my suffering. In through the mouth, out through the nose. My breath tastes stale and decayed.

Just me and my thoughts. My thoughts of events now past - marrying the love of my life, our children being born; and thoughts of events never to be - our children growing up, growing old together, our grand-children. I will never see these things of time to come. For I just have my thoughts of times lost.

So please, my darling, let me go. I long for it. I beg of you, let me go.

Ticking, tocking, when will it end?

When will they let me go?

Tick. Tock.

The beat goes on.