Memories of my death

I can remember that I was held under

Long enough for my lungs to tear themselves asunder.

I can remember trying to fight back,

Without any breath, my body just a sack.

I can remember that I screamed and screamed,

Screamed so long I thought I dreamed

The time without screaming, the drowning and pain,

Screamed until I broke, I was no longer sane.

Then, if I’m right, I think I died,

I… I think I actually died.

If I died… Then am I a ghost?

Doomed to wander this bleak coast.

I remember my death. What now?

I can’t stay, I must move on? But how?


Gold rush coroner

In the gold rush days of yore

Were, well, let’s just say, not a bore.

No law, no police no civilization,

Far in the wilds, death and starvation.

The stories they told of how people died

Did not hold water, I think mostly they lied.

Some are hilarious, they just make no sense,

Like this one assumes that the hearer is dense:

“A person found dead in the river in the vale

Cause of death: drowning, sex: male.”

(Makes sense so far, not much to it,

But hear what comes next to see what doesn’t fit.)

“Cause of drowning: a bullet hole in the head,

That made him fall down and he drownded dead.”

Now, I’m not a doctor, but a headshot might,

Be the actual reason why he did bite

The dust as he did, I’m just saying:

Somebody over there did some pretty foul playing.