Deathbed
1 am. I dim the fluorescent moon above me.
The room darkens, save
the pale moonlight that glows softly through
the crack between the curtains, illuminating.
The black bed, engulfed by shadow,
calls to me, seeks my patronage.
I lie down in relief, relishing its embrace.
Sensing my relief, the pale blue ceiling
splinters into straight, symmetric, sinister squares
that follow me like a disease,
graphing out my future,
hour by hour.
Dread, as the moonlight now spears
through the slit,
curling like a noose around my fragile neck.
Eyes popping, all I see
are the squares which dictate my life,
morph into a sickle which
slowly,
but surely,
descends.
It grazes the tip of my chest and stays, unmoving.
Gasping for air, all I can do
is pray
for the black bed to accept me into its warm embrace.
But it turns cold, and I shut my eyes, wondering
if I should push the sickle, down
into my fragile heart.
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/269111594-288-k506079.jpg)
YOU ARE READING
Spontaneity
Short StorySpontaneous, short, sincere and hopefully significant poems/short stories.