Forgive My Dying

There comes a point in life
when, in a crowded room, you sit
just to look at the confusion
and wonder why you fit;
when you think back on the endless
planning, possiblities, days ahead
that are now sheer and ghostly
following the tracks of the dead

when you let the alarm clock go off
laying loosely staring at the beep
flashing without your blinking any
and you roll over, back to sleep;
when you get up to do something
that makes a ripple in the day
so at night you can pass the mirror
and look long enough to wash away
the facial scrub and apply the cream

nothing left to say
only wanting to scream

and you thought you had it all
but you look at the people lying
and listen to their alarms ignored
with white-mocha expresso poured
over the eyes to disguise the crying...

I do hope you can forgive my dying.