Late

 

Oh bugger,

I appear to be dead.

Brown bread with something,

sticking out of my head.

Something sticky pooling deep red.

I'm beside myself now.

Standing looking down.

Death's bony hand sits cold on my shoulder,

now the only thing I can truly feel.

The wind blows right through me,

but it never actually touches.

It's all very strange.

 

That is rather miffing,

I had plans,

now I'm going to have to postpone,

Oh, how they all will moan.

I must admit,

it's all a bit annoying.

It wasn't my bucket to kick.

I should have been elsewhere entirely,

you see, I was supposed to be

over at number 23.

Doris wanted to have a chat

over a cup of tea,

but I was running late for that.

 

So, I thought I'd speed up my day,

was getting ready on the way,

when I slipped and tumbled down the stairs.

Fat lot of good that did me.

Now I have eternity.

Bone fragments poke through my hair,

to remind of how I should have taken more care.

 

Now my tea is getting cold,

My body colder still.

On the floor It's folded, disjointed,

all told it is making me feel ill.

It's odd looking down on yourself,

I never saw myself from such angles

or noticed the wrinkles, you see

and I'm pretty sure those bones

are not quite where

they are supposed to be.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Kyle