The Phone Number of Death

The phone number of death we dial, When we near a poisoned phial To rashly swallow its content, And actualize a suicidal intent: Our breathing soon in wheezes, What the cemetery richly pleases, A gripping of our tummies in feeble resistance Every offered revival, vain assistance Others to start rehearsing their goodbye To us on a wished hearse lie And the same phone number we try, As we enrage folks that skin fry Before advancing cops of pity dry And into claims of being surrounded not pry To pick their life sentence with smiles wry… Now that I’ve said so I shan’t cry.