Just Him, The Mirror And Death.

He wanted to die alone:
To close his eyes forever,
without the image of life
staring back at him.
That would be too painful
even eclipsing death itself.

He removed the vomit
smeared mirror from the
vomit stained wall and dragged
it like jesus did the cross
into his musty room.

Resting the mirror against
the no longer tanned table
so that it faced his armchair
of endless drunken slumbers.

Opened with haste all four packets of tablets,
as if they were his favourite chocolates
and washed them down with fake Russian vodka.

Then sat, dribbiling cloudy spit
staring at himself in the mirror.
Waiting, watching, willing death.
As death sat, waiting, watching, willing

by Not Long Left

Comments (1)

very poignant piece of poetry. a sad way to go... dan