Blotting Out Poem by Diana van den Berg

I want to blot out.
Some people drink
to do this.
Others take drugs.
Although I take a glass
sometimes even two in company
mostly just
on special occasions
and when I can afford it,
I don’t get drunk.
I did once in 1967
in my own home
and it was so awful
I have never done it again.
I haven’t ever taken,
nor don’t now
nor won’t ever
take drugs.

So all that is left for me
is one of two things –
and I have done both today.

One is to lie
for hours
in the foetal position
in a catatonic state
as lifeless as a stone statue,
where nothing moves,
nor can,
nor wants to,
not even my thoughts
and I am hardly breathing.
This must be a foretaste
of what it is like
to be in the glorious
arms of death.

The other is to allow
that catatonic state
drift me into
a deathlike sleep.

Even now, my fingers
are typing something or other
and perhaps
one day
I will read
what they typed.

(17 November 2012)