Prettyintelligentprincess

Empty and filling with red wine. The house is quiet amidst the low murmur of the television. Strangeness and distance and the bewilderment of where she is and why hovers above him; I can feel it.
He's upstairs, sleeping without me, as usual...waiting for the phone to ring; and then we'll know no one is there anymore, feeling lonely, feeling cold.
Can you hear me? Playing over and over in my head...liltingly. Softly. Devastatingly.
Close to tears. Don't know why, they are pushing through from the back of my head and filling my eyes and then falling ridiculously down my face.
My throat has felt constricted during the day..second day of this; usually a sign of stress for me. A slow strangulation.
Missed the intimacy of France today.
Fell into the pages of my book and let it consume me...another one read.
It's even lonely here and I want words to fill my head.
I want whispers to slither into my soul. I want kindness consuming me.
I want too much.
Far too much.
Slinking off now; back to the red wine where the quietness will soothe me.

Drugs.
Stinking, disgusting, vicious.
Clot began in her leg...the vein she was using at the time. Veins shattered. Veins hammered.And the clot spread...and spread and dispersed some more, all the way into her lungs.
She's on life support.
Eyes open.
Mind wide shut.
Staring and vacant.
Tubes hold her up and penetrate her; seeping fluids from her; pumping fluids into her.
A tubular skeleton.
Tubes from her nose.
Tubes in her mouth.
Tubes in her chest.
Her head is lolled to the side, not for artistic reasons you understand.
Mechanical humming and beeping is now her heart; her life support.
Swollen fingers; swollen hands.
Death is waiting, close by...standing just over there, just next to that woman sobbing over her father's bed.
He's dead.
Just gone now...
But he still looks human and strangely naked without tubes.
Standing around her deathly bed,they noticed the smiles.
Smiles beaming from the faded photograph.
Smiles from a childhood almost forgotten.

It was that.
That memory... that made him cry.

Strange how life is.
She is dying today...note pushed through the office door to inform the brothers.That just about sums things up really.Phone calls shattering the early sleepy family scene.

Last chance today. Roll up. Roll up.Last chance to see the thief.Last chance to see the addict.Last chance to see what drugs can do.
Last chance to be the heroin-induced mother.
Barely early thirties and she's dying today.
Almost a year to the day since her own father and no doubt another funeral to pay for.Afterall, we're made of money; it grows from the branches of the apple tree at the bottom of the garden.