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Words From The Exit Wound
I Died, Didn't I?













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I DIED, DIDN'T I?
(20th August, 2002, 1:27 AM)
 
Pretty much, a previous day
I struggled myself home
Half alive and dead drunk,
On the beauty of the shatter of my empty glass of dark rum.
 
"Fill 'er up with whiskey!"
And the cd player forces too much sound.
"Fill 'er up some more!"
And the television, entertainment unbound.
 
What, then, am I doing now,
Staring at my balcony? "Look, it's me!"
Sunken cheeks, tepid frown - bored, drowning lips.
"Fill 'er up more! More!" but the balcony protests, see?
 
A face, much like my own, turns
Face, illuminating in the dampened light
"You, sir, are useless!" a voice strikes.
"But I...."
I decide not to fight.
 
I settle on 'temporary schizopherenia'
And the wooden glass doors I shut
Yet the face illuminates
Without introduced light, but.
 
"What's the problem, you hallucination?"
I smile at myself from the outside.
"The problem, is that there is none." and then frightful screams
"YOU DIED!"
 
I died?
Ha, you jest, play tricks!
I let fall my tired eyelids, let go of the image.
"I did die, didn't I?" I ask the dark.
Awake, I screech, desperate with rage.
 
All this has left me confused,
Bewildered and bemused.
What happened to my life?
Did I end it, how did I die?






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