The Dithering Dalliances of Derek the (Near) Dead

It was an accident.
These things happen.
Our minds.
They just start to wither.
And dilly dally.
And waffle without purpose.

They put some dye up here.
They think that would shed some light.
Or color, as it turns out.
On this dismal situation.

Is sickness an accident.
Is that even a question.
Is this.

I wish you would have told me more.
Like C.S. Lewis.
No one ever told me fear felt so like theft.

This was a mockery.
I had time.
This was my watch.
I had it padlocked to my wrist so they'd have to bury me with it.
If they bothered.

But they put some dye up here.
To compare.
To contrast.
To tell me I'm in my twilight.

And it was in this moment, that I became bored with a disco ball.