I’m in my grave,
my bed of soil.
No more suffering,
no pain or turmoil.
The wind is calling
the Gods of Gloom.
It is my time,
my hour of doom.
‘Life’ is where the others are.
It shouldn’t be long now.
It isn’t that far.
One more pill to help me sleep,
one more drink to stop me weep,
one more glass to stop me feeling,
‘til I lie down and face the ceiling.
I fall asleep and dream I can fly.
I awake to realize I have died.
On my head stone it says:
“She never cried.”
They were wrong.
Thursday 1 February 2007