Almost Dead

I remember being dead.
The feeling of it.
The certainty.
The strange peace of knowing
the struggle was done.

A murder, almost managed to perfection,
an almost corpse,
ready to surrender,
going through the motions,
and nothing more.

But here I am,
an utter failure as a corpse,
strangely insistent on living,
proof of an afterlife
here on earth.

About this poem

I have come close to death three times. Twice physically. Once emotionally/spiritually. And yet here I am.

And gladly so.

Tom