Poems · poetry

“Sick Sense”

“Six Feet Under, One Foot Above” ©️C.P. Hickey 2018

“Sick Sense”

I don’t see dead people in any Haley Joel Osment Sixth Sense type of seeing dead people way.

I see all the dead people out, about, and around.

The multitudes of dying people.

Each dying slowly, or quickly;

As soon as they’re born.

The guy over there pounding caffeine through his veins, racing hypertension hurdles at a gradually accelerated rate.

He thinks someday.

But, someday comes quick.

Even for those with grain after grain of sand left in their timer.

And that gal over there who just tried H for the first time. The sweetest of kisses, that she chases deep deep deep into the darkest of wells.

The only truth being that they are bottomless wells, with no rope and bucket.

How about that kid playing shifty numbing appistry on his smart phone. Never looking up for an instant. Stepping out into a crosswalk, vulnerable to the procession and economy of living.

Smacked maim against a grimy grill.

Level cleared, challenge unlocked.

Yes, I see dead people, because everyone alive is dying.

The only people not dead, you ask?

Well, only those not born yet,


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