Dying Alive

Life was hanging jagged
on the last limb, waiting
for the Fall, wanting to flutter
away before the coming cold of Winter.

We stared at all the signs,
billboards counting down
Doomsday minutes, our eyes
forever surrendering to "Buy more Coke".

And we mainlined corn syrup,
hoping for a new recipe, our
final betrayal seeming simply Classic.

My lips moved as you passed the bottle,
mouthing platitudes in the drunken dawn,
anything to make the coming daylight bright,
a reason for waking to another day.

You wheezed a phlegm plagued cough,
a sign of tubercular rumblings, deep in
your throat to bring words out breathing:

"I think I'm dying".

I glanced at our surroundings;
the needles of sun highlighting
the ruin of our days, smoke
cascading, frozen in the chilling room.
I grabbed your empty head, proof against meaning,

"Honey, we all die sometime".