This day hangs heavy on me. It will not fit me right. I'm unbuttoned unzipped - this hem is ripped. We tripped but we tried oh we tried to walk a straight line.
I am itching -- my skin shows no mercy take it off now, oh god please take it off - I grow frightened of losing my breath.
You tell me catching it could be worse...
Where did you get this glue? It sticks to me as if it think it is a second skin. It is not part of this body. Why does it cling so tightly?
I am paralysed. I am scared. I dream I am dead. This is the hospital where the nearly dead go. I will be tested and I will fail. You talk to me, you touch me. I reply, I respond - oh god thank you, all is well.
You sigh deeply. You rub your forehead. Maybe one tear forms.
My ears ring with a church bell and a voice wishes to speak to me soon.
Why are my ears closing up? I cannot hear I cannot hear.
I am her from top to toe today - the ivy grows. Soon I will be waist-deep...
Could this be my last chance to tell you?
I am tethered to that bed again and the ivy is growing fast. Words need a mouth, words need fingers.
The fingers were webbed together before that tray stopped with paper and a crayon. "Pens," she said, "make a pathetic but possible attempt." "Pencils,"she said, "can be bluntly sharp and the bloody mess..."
"A crayon for you, dear - and all the paper that you need."
But I have gone, I have gone back into the breath of ivy.