Poetry
A Pretty Death
I’m alone.
Drowning in my living room.
The light from outside
refracting off of my dying breaths
bubbling to the surface.
I’m frozen here,
trapped in time;
floating in a hazy tableau
surrounded by the mundane.
An over-worn chair.
A tacky chandelier.
Dying daisies on the mantle.
A half-finished cup of tea
on a cheap table.
A half-finished life.
The light
streaming in from the windows
cradles me
as I float
gently down.
Looking in the mirror.
There is no beauty
in death.
I’m alone.
Drowning in my living room.
The light from outside
refracting off of my dying breaths
bubbling to the surface.
I’m frozen here,
trapped in time;
floating in a hazy tableau
surrounded by the mundane.
An over-worn chair.
A tacky chandelier.
Dying daisies on the mantle.
A half-finished cup of tea
on a cheap table.
A half-finished life.
The light
streaming in from the windows
cradles me
as I float
gently down.
Looking in the mirror.
There is no beauty
in death.