A Poem.

I wrote this a few weeks ago.  I've edited only once but I need to edit more before I add it to my portfolio.  Hope you enjoy!

Fading

By M. Cornell

These previously breathing-and-screaming corpses tossed about have gotten old.  They are everywhere. Unmoving and unliving.  A grisly, unending buffet for any scavenging creatures. 

Not sure if the rot-stink is still there or if I’m just so used to it. 

The puncture in my arm is infected.  It looks pretty bad.  Hurts like a mother.

I suppose I’ll have to deal with that soon.  Or soonish.

I haven’t seen a single person in so long.  Months, probably.  Definitely not years.  Not yet.

I wonder if Big Ben is still intact.  Doubtful.  

Ouch! Goddamn, I need to deal with this arm situation.  Can barely move the thing.  I’m bound to

find something useful deeper in town.  Find me some antibiotics.  Or a cold beer. 

Hell, I’d be happy with a half-smoked cigarette. 

I miss Rachel.  If she were still alive and with me, she’d be so pissed off for my stupidity. 

I can hear her scolding voice in my head, “Fell off an overpass and sliced open your arm? Who does That?  Oh.  Right.  Your dumb ass!”  I miss her rants, that glossy twinkle in her eyes when

she goes off

about something, anything.  Even if it was me.  

She died at the beginning.  She went quickly.  Painlessly.

The last people I saw alive lived in the woods. 

They tried to eat me. 

Frail and whimpering, they came at me like a wave.  A few of the punches I threw

probably killed some of them.  They were not human beings anymore.  Savage things.

They’re probably all dead by now and in a better place. 

Better than here.

Hollow winds matched with hollow gray skies.  Everyday and everywhere.  I’m starting to think that even the sun is dead.

I’m so tired.  So very tired.  Maybe I’ll just rest here in this garage for awhile.  Gather my strength.

Yes, for just a little while longer.  Get some shut eye.  My arm doesn’t hurt so bad now.  Might not have to go searching downtown.  I’ll see what happens after a short rest. 

Just a short rest.  Maybe I’ll dream of Rachel again.  Those give me comfort.  They remind me of better times.  When I had a place before the

World went to shit. 

When I had friends and family.

Back when I had a home. 

Rachel, I want to come home now.

I want to come home.