The edge

I lie in the half light, shadow of dusk approaching.
Beside me lie the empty boxes of every prescribed drug I could find.
Confetti of blister packs surrounds me.
Too late now.. It's done!

The telephone lies within my drowsy reach.
Three little numbers.... I picture them in my head... Those three 9's that could still change the outcome .....
My index finger twitches briefly.. I see it.. Then it returns to stillness.

I feel a little sedated now....ever so slightly detached and I think to myself that's a good thing ..
To drift away on a sea of peace and tranquillity,

I hear the most haunting melody.. Real or imagined I can't tell......then I smile to myself.
As if my exit from this world would be accompanied by beautiful music!
Alas I shall slip from this world unnoticed.. Without so much as birdsong.

I shall leave behind so little to aid remembrance ..: no real evidence that I was ever here ,
A tinge of sadness in my drug soaked mind....
Not completely anaesthetised yet..still pain there in my heart.

I turn my head.. The telephone eyeballs me...
My finger twitches a second time .
I feel strange now.. Floaty and ethereal ,
The pain has nearly gone away.

I roll clumsily towards the telephone,
It seems to be moving away from me .. The bed is enormous,
I know there's not much time ...
I stare stupidly at the receiver.

Three little numbers....then nothing.
Nothing for quite a long while,
Then the smell of hospitals assuages my nostrils,
Wearing a crisp white sheet.. Not a shroud..

I muse if my failure to die was a weakness or a strength?
To leave or face a nothingness world...
Perhaps there is no glory in either choice,
Each path as empty and desolate as the other....