I counted for a googleplex how often
I had forgotten
to call you on the phone.
And now I feel quite rotten.
To toss my carcass in the pits of a
rabid briggle beast
Would not slake my cruel remorse
nor calm me in the least.
I might remain in fetal dread
for how I've done you wrong.
Or I could scream my lungs out raw
in heavy metal song.
No. That will not do at all,
for now my throat is dry.
Perhaps a glass of hemlock juice
might truly satisfy.
With just a swig I'll end it all
and no more feel this pain.
The anguish of your sad neglect
keeps coming back again.
I could have called. I could have wrote.
I could have sent a pigeon.
I could have made the smallest effort
If only just a smidgen.
Instead I sit here writing poems
of my demise in rhyme.
When I could be doing more constructive
things with my wasted time.
I could simply dial your number
and hope you're not at large
Unfortunately I can't because
my phone has lost it's charge....