That wretched doctor who took my life,
I curse him from beneath the grave,
Oh, how he said cancer is to blame,
After operating me for tumor, what a shame!
Oh, how my daughter cried,
As she saw me rapidly fade,
And my sons gave up their dreams,
Too soon, they had responsibilities to take,
Then, there’s this magical little girl,
Whom I never got to meet,
She has my eyes, my nose,
And a small part of my soul,
She stares into my photo and says,
As if I can hear her pray,
“Everything would have been different,
If… if only, you were alive.”
Damn! Her wishes keep me awake,
Pondering, wondering, screaming,
‘What if I had a few more years to live?’
There’s no resting in peace.
NaPoWriMo Day 8. Monolouge of a dead person.