A Life Diminished

ONLY POETRY CAN BEGIN TO EXPRESS THE LEVEL OF SUFFERING IN SEVERE ME. TO WITNESS LINDA WEEPING  IN TORMENT DEFIES WORDS, IT IS SO HORRIBLE.

Utterly broken by the noise assault upon my being
It enters into every nook and cranny 
of my existence, 
every cell, 
every organ, 
it seems,
And devours me from the inside,
paralysing me from head to toe, 
so that time after time, 
no part escapes.
I am tormented.
I am scalded with pain.
I am raging at the injustice:
the continued violation of my home, 
my living space, 
my body, 
my life, 
my cells,
battered, 
twisted, 
demolished,
repeatedly 
till I can no longer bear 
another second 
of the horror of it.
It defines my life.
It breaks me into tiny fragments
so that my body will not, 
cannot, 
is not 
able
to hold me up,
to feel, 
to move, 
to think, 
to escape
this daily torture
from loud and violating noise attacks
to even simple ordinary things.
It is unrelenting
and a violent assault
upon an already weak 
and fractured body.
My life is being torn from me
And ripped apart 
repeatedly,
with crass ignorance
And deliberate
carelessness 
or abuse of power and might
or simply, just by being in the room with me now,
in the wrong moment,
in the wrong way,
at the wrong angle,
without realising the danger
at hand,
till I am left weeping
and diminished,
my soul crying for mercy
and tattered
from decades 
of medical neglect.

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