light exploding through small arched windows in doors
warm and temper the cold and clutching fingers
wrapped around the bleed in his side and stomach

There is no sound but the ticking of the loudest clock
that he’d ever heard and it is not long before he realizes
that in this mess and easy chair he is going to die

the explosions in the window get brighter
and the ticking clock gets slower and slower
just like every movie says it will
and he tries to breathe deeper but only gets shallow gasps
and he wishes that he hadn’t taken all that air for granted
and there’s nothing he can do about that now

The tick sounds one last time but does not decay
it just stretches on in to a sharp warm hum
and his body begins to shake like crazy
and his breath is not shallow, but gone forever
and he can not see, but he can see everything
and he can not feel, but it’s not bad so much as perfect

And when I walked in to find him dead from two cuts
laying on a La-Z-Boy with the back door kicked in
he didn’t tell me anything, but if he did
he would have told me that he hated getting stabbed
but in a way it’s alright because the rest of the thing was beautiful