Deactivated

I hate hospitals.
Have I told you?
No, how could I
ever?

Yesterday was exhausting.
I went
to the hospital,
in the morning,
sleep-depraved

heart depraved

self depraved,
as always.

I crashed on the patient's bed
while she was in surgery.
(Against the rules,
but the nurse let me sleep.
I must have looked

horrific).

My limbs hurt
and were stiff
by the time I was replaced.
I looked at her
anxiously.
And she sleeped.
For a moment
the images of last week's funeral
all crushed in
all crushed me.

I'm terrified of old age.
The helpnessness.
The loneliness.
The inability to get up
and walk away.

And everything turned to white.

I immersed myself in the letters of Anais Nin
and Henry Miller,
desperatelly,
but that did not help

as her words
were my words
and his words
reminded me of you.
(Do you ever think of me
as such?)

I had the fashion show at night,
my body still hurts.
And then
weed followed.
With strangers
and a friend.
I half hoped
its narcotic fume
would enclasp me

would relax me

would erase me.

Sadly it did not.

I deactivated facebook
just for a while
to completely severe myself from you.

Just for a while.

I wonder whether you'll even realise
the complete absence
of connection.