I met a man upon the street
Who said I would be late.
I know without a doubt that he
Had seen--had planned?--my fate.
As I walked by he touched my back.
I thought I felt a chill,
And then a heavy lamp did tumble
Off a windowsill.
A boy's life was with violence cut
Just like a power line.
In seconds did I realize
The life cut short was mine.
But from the corner of my eye
I saw a craven form
Dash from the ledge and vanish like
A rowboat in a storm.
I stood in shock; the man approached,
A post-it in his hand
Which held my name and time of death.
How fully was this planned?
The lights have come; they beckon me;
It's time for me to go,
And where I'm headed now I'm dead
Is not for him to know.
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6 comments:
Creepster!
Don't blame me. Blame the poem's TV show namesake and inspiration.
On the other hand, my brain does tend to spew a lot of odd things when I'm about to fall asleep: poem ideas, mutated D&D monster ideas, or just surreal sequences of events and landscapes.
What TV show? I don't watch television.
Yeah, I get weird stuff in my head at night too. I also have kinda strange dreams. The other night I dreamt that my cat turned into a homicidal maniac. Scary.
Dead Like Me is something that a friend of my parents' intoduced to us. It's not on anymore, but she made us borrow her DVD of the first season.
As in, an otherwise-normal cat trying to kill you, or you cat transforming into a human homicidal maniac?
Nah, normal cat body, just suddenly having insane bloodlust for humans. Also I think he may have gotten bigger...
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