The Counterfeit Existence

I hate my family, I hate them so much
I�ve never told them, though I want them to know
They�ve let me down, and I don�t care if they die
They are no better worse than the nazi doctors who performed horrendous, 
torturous operations on hundreds of adults and small children, my family is no better.

I�ve been sick, for a very long time
This disease that has been eating at me forever, and I will soon, hopefully, die from it
I�ve tired of taking medication, The pills and the bedpans
The people who live in hope a cure will be found in time disgust me
There�s not a chance in hell, though that is a place I�m familiar with

I live in constant torture, 
My world is pain, searing intolerable pain
I feel like I am in hell, burning with the demons
Being roasted on a spit as pieces of my body are cut off and eaten
Nonstop torment, and agony. Being burned, though never dying

I will suffer severely till I am drugged, though the drugs are impotent
They offer no relief whatsoever, they don�t numb the pain anymore
So that even in my state of nothing, I will be hurting
There are NO drugs that will ease my pain
Can�t anyone understand? I just want to die�..

My bones are brittle, they can be snapped by the wind
I have bedsores the size of soup cans, purple and red
Festering pus filled boils cover my body
I am pathetic, helpless and useless 
I have been reduced to a slobbering incoherent child

Do you understand now? My life, My cruel JOKE of a life?
Do you understand what I want now, what I need?
Do you understand, truly understand the extent of my suffering?
My family won�t do it! They won�t let me go, my body can�t take anymore!
They�re choosing instead to torture me till I can�t take anymore pain, and die.

I talked to the doctors, I needed them to help me
I couldn�t do this myself, I can do nothing more than hurt, write and die
It turns out my family declared me legally insane!
They don�t want me to leave them, so they force me to �exist�
I can�t make my decisions anymore, I should never have mentioned euthanasia

Is it not understandable? Could it not be condoned?
To end a life of someone who is of no use alive?
The life of someone who cannot stop crying in anguish over the pain his frail and useless
 body cannot handle anymore? 
Whose body is an emaciated husk?
Is it really so wrong, to end a life that should have ended long ago?

Note to the Reader, On March 1, 2000, Trenton Paul Anthony, aged 64, 
died after a long and painful battle with bone marrow cancer. Two years after he stopped writing in his journal. 
Eventually he became so brittle and the pain so unbearable that he couldn't even hold a pencil anymore. 
He was buried in the St. Theresa�s cemetery.
The suffering he endured, in his counterfeit existence, has finally come to an end.