Death is calling I might pick up. Telling me come home.
Home where?
To the morgue?
With my friends?
Forever more?
What fate?
Shall i have?
Kinda getting sick of being trapped.
It’s time, I fly, goodbye, I die.
It’s now, I hang above the ground, with my necklace made of rope.
Death is calling I might pick up.
Telling me come home.
Home where?
To the Grave.
With my friends and family?
This offer is so tempting.
I, I, I wanna fly.
Maybe I’ll test it at great height.
I, I, I wanna swing,
Maybe I’ll test it from a tree.
I, I, I need a drain,
Maybe I’ll use a cold metal blade.
Death is calling I pick up.
He tells me come home child.
I think I’ll wait just a little while…
3 comments
You’re a really good poet. Don’t answer death’s call. Let death deal with the voicemail.
I know death gets scary and I eventually run away and change my number. but he’s a stalker so he always finds me again. (metephorically speaking, i’m not crazy)
I really like what you wrote here good job