The heart monitor flat lines, I sink down to a constant sounding beep;
I drop off this world, as even angels will someday have to fall down to sleep.
An electric pulse shakes back down the defibrillator, as the doctor shouts out stand clear;
Watery cries roll back up my cheek, back into my eyes, like a patiently waiting tear.
The paramedic’s rush me back outside into the lifting rain, as blood pours back into where the knife had cut;
They lift me back into the ambulance, as the open doors are slammed back shut.
Speeding down the road backwards, as the blue lights are flashing the other way;
Through the rear view window, I see the stars and moon sink, as the setting sun lifts back up into the day.
The paramedics pull me off the stretcher, laying me back onto the ground;
As the ambulance reverses backwards and away, the sirens become just another distant sound.
I lay on my back on the grass, as a dark figure stands over me, unsaying the last words that he had just said;
As I get back to my feet, the knife pulls out from my chest, which seals the hole back up which bled.
The dark figure puts his knife back up his sleeve, as he shouts “GIVE ME YOUR WALLET, AND YOUR FUCKING MOBILE PHONE”;
As he steps back into the shadows, I pace backwards, walking down the dark alley all on my own.
As the rain lifts back into the sky, I pull down the hood from my coat;
I walk back through my front door, and un-write the poem I had just wrote.
I lift my cigarette back from the ash tray, re lighting itself, as the smoke drifts down back into the paper;
I pick up my box of cigarettes, seeing only one fag left, before I un-think of going to the shop later.
I unfold the letter, un-lick the stamp, put away the envelope, until it is no longer ready to send;
I put my pen down, sign my name, before reading out the last two words on the page, which spells out the end.
BARRY MOWLES ©2011