Today I had weird thoughts about death

 
Today I had weird thoughts about death.

Perhaps it was the bleeding.
Perhaps it was the heaving.
Or maybe it was the visceral fear.

The stain on the couch points to this,
like the birth of a red black hole.

I couldn't but swear though out of breath

as I saw my funeral rolling,
as I saw my friends in tears,
as I saw the blood dripping.

The pain in the guts attests to this,
like a gash made by a sinkhole.

I didn't have the heart to tell my friends
that there wouldn't be any ceremony.
This is not how I want my life to end:
the plan is to bury myself at sea.

They sure know this isn't the first time
I've had weird thoughts about death.

Yet they may not understand as they
haven't have to bleed
for four days straight.
The twang of whiskey
a testimony to this
the old, familiar smell.

The thoughts never totally go dumb
though the clots are now down the drain
the flesh grows pale,
the mind goes numb

at the end of each day, only the pain

I shall wait for the right tide
eyeing life and sea
from their respective shore

bracing away for the last ride

trying not to bleed too much
this is not the way the world ends

it ends when I say it ends
the pain today can go fuck itself