(no subject)
maybe she
sleeps
to dream
a better
me
i'll die
a statistic
a phase
an infatuation
my last heart beat
will be felt
by bedsheets
it's echo
caught
between the
index finger
and
thumb
of a nurse
it will be
registered
numerically
nothing more
nothing less
perhaps,
mentioned in passing
nestled between
coupon talk
and the space
set aside
for idle chit-chat
to prolong
a phone conversation
on the day i die
a hawk
will dive
too hard
into the water
for it's prey
and die
a construction worker
will buy his fiance
a necklace
and he will smile
while he places it
around her
a bee
will spread
pollen
a teacher
will raise
the score
for a student
she likes
a fly
will rest
on my bottom
lip
and be cooled
by my final breath
to die
in your
work
is guilty
self pity
to know
it's accurate
is nothing
more
than a
confession
of an eventuality