I am fairly sure this cheese sandwich will kill me.
It came to me in an epiphany
as I poured milk into my tea.
I don't think it's going to choke me.
I don't see myself rolling on the floor
With that gasping for air look in desperate eyes.
But trust me readers this sandwich has my number
My favourite colour and a dislike born in the venom
of an unrequited lover.
Have you ever started a poem
Then wondered how the f uck it may end?
I made the sandwich having scoffed 24 aspirin.
My dairy allergy ended my days.
I made the sandwich with the same knife
I had just used to open my veins.
The cheese pushed my cholesterol limit
Over the speed limit.
You chose to read this.
You decide.
In case you can't decide.
I was skydiving whilst peckish
and I didn't pack my own bag.
I was taking drugs and the sandwich turned into a shark.
Who ate me.
Whole.
I have to fess up.
The cheese sandwich did not kill me.
It was raining the kind of rain just sent to emulate
your mood.
I was eating a cheese sandwich,
I had just killed my brother
I needed an escape.
Forgive me.
It was on rye.
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