I took a stroll with Death today,
Down a cobbled road of gravestones.
The skies were overcast, the air was cool,
And time shifted like grains of steel.
His eyes were ablaze with freezing embers,
Hands like the roughest Arabian silk.
Sharp suit tailored so chaotically,
Death had such lively taste.
We discussed my short life at great length,
And why I had done mu deed.
“Suicide at 18? Why dear boy?”
He asked with apathetic caring.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Death, sir,”
I answered with vague absoluteness,
“But I know that I want a new beginning.”
He stared with perplexed understanding.
Death procured a silver pocket watch,
With the hue of golden dandelions.
“It would seem someone’s a tad early,”
He said as embers glanced over ticking.
“We’ll have this chat another day, farewell!”
And before I could protest and plead,
My eyes flashed open amongst the company,
Of old friends: silence and solitude.
The sterile and empty hospital cell,
Seemed to choke me more than my full circle.
“Another day,” I think with forlorn eyes,
And awake to my nightmares once again.