Friday, 12 April 2013

The Pending Death Of My Dad NaPoWriMo Day 11 Poem 9

More and more I understood what he meant by leaving
the door open and pissing on the floor. What he meant
by not caring about the smell. He had a voice that had lost
all its weight. I could not hold my breath any longer.

He dreams of a younger body,
I watched him sleeping,
imitating a death
that he has been waiting too long for.

Do people always die     when they’re supposed to?

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