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death is not beautiful, tragic, or romantic.
it is nothing more
than the period
at the end
of a sentence.
scalding staples laced into the meat
of my
spine.
removed one
by
one. metal falling into a metal bin
clink.
clink. clink.
clink
clink
clink
clink clink clink clink.
you see
i've been cattle.
i don't need reassurance of
god's punishment and
morph-ine doesn't decrease pain just
dissolves the
difference,
physicality has no borders
when measured by the space of pain
which units of are counted in
white rooms, pain pumps, and iv's.
white ceilings became my friends
their raised stucco
was neurons connecting
exchanging distress signals
of anguish
somewhere in those patterns
i saw the future,
freedom
in the sound of a pain pump's steady
drip.
i was alone
aside from nurses
my family promised to bring me food
and didn't show up
so i didn't eat
and had to beg a janitor
for food
he bought me a package of oreos
out of a vending machine with his own
money and we watched married
with children
not
to forget the entire occurrence
but in wanting to do so
i kept coming back for more
palliative endings that blow open the doors
to an eternity of self-defeat
where
death's distance is measured in
mil-i-grams.
recount the sheepish seconds, a chance to relive momentary misery
long enough to thank god it's over.
ax hammer
jaw breaker
of expectation,
virgin purity only created sheer boredom.
zebra in zealots clothes
where what you pay for is what you get.
and there is nothing like converting
someone. teaching them how and why
by
example.
lesbians in training.
if i promise anything it's that
i'm gonna make you
me.
a preprogrammed circuitry of
a brought up indoctrination plan. that's right, it's right there,
sown up tight and passing a peach pit from the cavity.
like um young 'cause
girls just wanna have fun.
physical excess,
thin vials of dissatisfaction
sticking
in your
ribs.
love?
or
gasm.
suck it in,
suck it in,
suck it up.
learn how to take what you get,
then
to like it. never forget
to
smile.
Anne McMillen has been published in Open Wide and Kagablog and featured in Deep Cleveland Poetry. She wrote a column for The Hold. Her local police department has blocked her calls.
The three poems on this page are excerpted from her first-full length book of poems, Monolith, which will be published in 2010 by Unlikely Books.