Dead Spread

Your cold limp hand slipped into my relapse
Hiding from the vertical gusts’ collapse
Blinding hail feels like a tight shotgun’s spread
Counting down from ten to waking the dead

The consequences known a head of time
Up the last two steps pleading like a mime
Heaving, coughing and choking welcomes death
All his emotions leave with his last breath

Laying there getting colder by the minute
Standing up and feeling his soul’s limits
Getting involved with tears flowing inside
Wishing now that I had a place to hide

The windy sky is falling with no rescue
Blue and white replaced by black and purple hues
Growing depression breaks on both shoulders
With lightening and thundering boulders

Shoulder blades quit and my mind turned black
Depression deepens the boulders wide tracks
Getting too close to other’s diseased minds
Or get cold limp hands close to my behind

© 2013 Michael Yost 06/28