Crash!
The sound of shattering glass
against the kitchen counter.

Searing cold, my blood slows
life goes dark, red,
sticky, slippery floors slow my pace
to the phone.

What’s that number again?
9…1…what?
Memory fails me, I want to sleep.
Who’d of thought it would cut so deep?

I’m not afraid, I wonder why
of death, as life goes slipping by.

I’ll just sit here
wait and see
if the ambulance gets here
soon, maybe it will be
okay…