A few more minutes, or a few more days?
"I'm going to die" I insist to myself.
Placid smile on forlorn face.
When the chlorine and the bleach
      won't clean the white any more;
When the flavours and the food
      don't appeal in any sort of way.
"I'm going to die", I insist to myself.
Flagrant denial of mortality.

Time is fickle. It promises much
      but fails in its delivery.
"Will it hurt?" I wonder.
Or will I slip away quietly
      like water down the drain?

I hear early birds making their
insistent chatter noises against
      the backdrop of the dawn.
Traffic moving on the street.
People in cars on their way
      to where-ever they are going.
I sit on a park bench trying
      to absorb everything all at once.
"I won't be sitting here next year."
      I mutter in my head.

Lie down. Lie down.
Relax.
.Don't think any more.

"I'm going to die." I insist to myself.
       "Die and be here no more."

Sipping slowly of the
words as they falter
       through the mist.
How long is left is my world.
And this conversation with myself
       will not change a thing.