My life is nearly over, I leave the rest to you.

The dreaming, moon-beaming, blood teeming,

I've other things to do.


I need to write my will, comb my hair; any last requests?

Because once they put me in the ground,

You might just be next.

This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741