TEN PERCENT DEAD
At first I thought it was an expanding mole,
But instead on my face was a penny-size hole.
I looked a little closer and the mirror said,
“It looks, my friend, like you’re ten percent dead.”
I felt somewhat off the whole day long,
An eerie feeling I didn’t belong.
My arms and shoulders were drenched in red,
Just like that I was twenty percent dead.
No longer able to stand on my feet,
I fell to the ground with my heart’s last beat.
How could I know what lay ahead,
Being a man now fifty percent dead?
From high above I saw the shell
Glimmering, vivid as a tolling bell.
I saw him slumped over at the Tip Top Tavern,
I saw his soul, a cobwebbed cavern.
How did his chances grow so slim?
How did they get the drop on him?
No answers for now, the time had arrived
For me to leave and become completely alive.
(Photo by author)
