Death Wish

My death was a glorious place.
It’s a shame I can’t rush to get to it any longer,
but I’ve got things to do.

My death was a home,
a nice place to curl up and read a book.
It had a fireplace, but you never had to turn it on.
It was perpetual fall outside,
and the room’s window was large,
picturesque,
and easy to open.

Sometimes I would roam outside
among you,
a whistling specter,
enjoying the fresh air
and foliage

and occasionally
I would
pat you on the ass
for fun.