The Head

I have a penchant,
a call coming from within me,
to ride on death’s wings,
to see how far it can take me,
how good it feels.

My body
feels empty
and heavy.

I feel nothing of it,
except its weight,
the heaviness of my head
on my heavy body.

Unmoved, I stay lain
in the one place I have been
since I had my last thought.
Movement comes to me as
a chore
better remained unperformed.

And so I sit
and wait,
either for the weight
to be taken off
of me,
my small body,
or
to be freed
of life itself