“A Dead Man Lives Here” by Michael Main

Who lives here?
A dead man lives here.
The accumulation of my fears.
For the past several years.
My friend, and relative.
Lying there, on your face, stiff.
Grotesque face, formed in a snarl.
All life drained from your body.
I couldn't help but think what it was like.
After living your last day.
Preparing the chemical for your last trick.
Mixing cyanide in your drink.
Moving past all of your memories.
Going upstairs to your final sleep.
Slipping off your slippers like you often did.
Then going to your room, sitting your hemlock on the stand.
Possibly having second thoughts.
Where will you go?
What will you see?
What will you feel?
Leaving what you knew for so many years behind.
Finally picking up the glass and sipping it.
The smell hits your nose-the task is done.
You black out after violently trying to breath.
Falling off your bed onto the floor.
Found by your relatives you had set up to come over.
And now I stand in your house.
The place where you always fed me and coached me.
The lab down stairs, where you always taught me things.
And now I come down stairs, and you are no longer there.
I pick up your journal and look at it. I can't contain the tears.
I go up to the kitchen where you made me the best breakfasts ever!
You aren't there. I look your death in the face and hate it for existing.
That vile vial of powder that did you in...
Yes, a dead man lives here.
Amidst all the memories and love that exist.
But the most important part is missing...
The man that created them all.