Pink Paint Peeling

Through the glass nook,
I look.
A type of dizziness,
Down in that deep dark abyss,
The smell so stale and foul,
No light does that ditch allow.
Like a kaleidoscope,
All I can do is mope.
No sign of relief,
No sign of belief,
That I will live.
No more will I give,
My love to the people I’ve known,
As they’ve watched how I’ve grown.
As I look up at the ceiling,
The pink paint peeling,
My life flashes before me.
Wonder how the people will react when they see,
My name in the obituary.
I will look down from heaven,
At my brother aged seven,
I will watch him grow.
When he gets older I hope he will know,
How much I loved him,
No matter how many times he feels grim.
Finally I settle in the crevices of the bed,
My fear disappears, I feel calm instead.
I take a deep breath,
The only one I have left.
I close my eyes,
And quietly say my goodbyes.