In Front Of Your Eyes He Flashes, a poem by Drem about end of life visions

I’ll never send this poem to him. There is no point. I tried once to tell him. He rejected me. I’m not one to grovel. I just hate that this is what I see before I go in for my experimental drug treatments. Happens every single time. Makes me sick.

In Front Of Your Eyes He Flashes, a poem by Drem

March 5th, 2016

“It gets close to the time

where I end up in bed

with wires attached to my chest

and tubes strapped to my arms

with needles in my veins, taped,

dripping drugs into them.

And I think of him.

And I hate it.

I don’t try to.

But my mind

has a mind

of its own.

I’m becoming a machine

yet still lack certain

bodily control.

And a machine keeps me alive,

but leaves some emotions

left on the side

to deal with in the garbage.

Water begins to fill my eyes.


Not from the pain

from the side affects

of medications.

But from the flashbacks

that are more vivid

than this vacation

in a hospital bed.

Even admitting it is painful-

that my mind drifts to him

at a time like this.

At a time like this.

I think of him.

I don’t know why.

I really don’t.

I’ve thought about it

since there’s nothing else to do-

Extensively dissected my followups

to these memories.

And all I can come up with

is that if he were still here

and the man I believed he was

he would stand with me now

and care I exist.

Even now

as I lose myself

to the drugs and the beat

of the beeps of my machines

that are tracking my pulse rate and heart rate.

He’d still see me through all that

if he was really

the man I believed he could have been

if he tried harder

not to give up on himself

or if I tried harder

not to give up on him.

Admitting it now

makes my mouth dry.

Emotions can do that.

Memories can do that.

Bring upon some physical


Physical manipulation.

See, he lingers

after all these years gone.

He does this to me.

He gets under my skin.

More than the needles.

Scarier than the tubes.

He’s here.

I see him.

In my room.

He asks why I told him I didn’t love him when I did love him.

I tell him it’s because I was trying to save him from me.

He asks me what I was so ashamed of.

I show him my body.

He doesn’t understand.

I ask him why he told me he didn’t want me back last year.

He says it’s because of what he told me- that he’s too broken.

I ask him why he took so long to tell me.

He says it’s why he told me- that he was ashamed.

I say it’s not a good enough an excuse if he loves me.

But we both agree it is good enough.

It’s a good enough excuse.

It is.

He’s gone.

Whether I want him to be or not.

He’s gone.

Peeks in, nonetheless,

when my life is in question-

up to my doctors

and my mother, the proxy

and my legal testament.

And even though he doesn’t think of me,


as much as I think of him

I wish he were my partner.

And even though he might not remember

what we had

after all these years,

I wish he would hold my hand.

Boys are like that, you know.

Not as emotional.


I’m probably in some shoebox in his closet

next to pornos

his brother gave him

and a Christmas sweater he doesn’t wear

because he doesn’t celebrate Christmas.

I’m reduced to a box

that is dusty and gray.

But gray was his favorite color.

Gray and green.

I remember.

I remember.

I wish I didn’t remember.

He’s not like me.

He doesn’t reach back.

He doesn’t dream of me.”

(c) 2016 Drem



13 thoughts on “In Front Of Your Eyes He Flashes, a poem by Drem about end of life visions

  1. Oh my! Your poetry is so breathtaking Drem. I hope you get published. I want an autographed personal copy for me. I’m selfish like that. Your book would be worn, tattered, torn – and loved. Jx

    Liked by 4 people

    1. I promise to tell you when the book happens.
      And I’ll write, “to my most supportive fan. u have been with me since the early days. xoxo 4eva. Drem ❤ ❤

      I feel tattered right now. God, Jodine. I think we need a vacation.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Daisy, my heart is so sore too. I’m feeling this way right now. I haven’t slept all night. I can’t believe I was able to actually write when I was feeling in the moment. I usually need to digest what I’m feeling. This is highly unique for me.

      Thank you very much for reading .


  2. Arriving at the end of the poem was like walking out into the lobby after seeing a wonderful art-house film, the mind racing while the emotions are all sparking, the psyche trying to put it all together in some kind of whole, but there are so many wonderful fragments, which alter other fragments, making the mind race more and the emotions spark.

    Liked by 1 person

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