My life has always been full of almosts,
Failed potential as they call it,
I will not tell you about the attempt I made last month,
That my mother thanked God for my ‘narrow escape’;
I would have been almost gone
Had I not thrown up.
But I will call you at odd times, 3 in the morning
When I’ll be sure you won’t pick up the phone,
Later i’ll have another atrocity to blame on;
I’ll break your DIY cloud maker and paint the sky in grey scale,
My life is a gift I want to return;
You will not forgive me and we will not part on good terms;
But you will compel people to confuse your pen with my tombstone,
Please write my obituary, will you?