Daniel B. Silver

I'M DEAD


 

Bats breaking bones in my face
Leaving deep cavitations in my head
My shattered chest last heaved half-heartedly

I’m dead

There’s thick, metallic clots in my mouth
Pavement and broken glass for a bed
Hit and run at fifty plus

I’m dead

Forty-caliber shell casings marked with chalk
Yellow circles around fragments of lead
Detectives look on as they zip me up and away

I’m dead

A gaping laceration across my throat

Like a geyser I exsanguinated hot and red

One quick swipe with a switchblade

I’m dead

Bruises in the shape of handprints
Through a constricted airway I pled
Just let go and I’ll settle my debt

I’m dead

The smell of cooked meat and burning plastic
Deafened bystanders full of dread
A smoldering shell of an exploded Chevy Nova

I’m dead

Crosshairs aimed at my unaware face
White and expressionless lit in infrared
A steady squeeze of the rifle’s trigger

I’m dead

All these experiences that I’ve collected
These pages I’ve written and read
An entire life turned off like the TV screen

I’m dead