Being Mortal

Last time I spent more than a few hours in a hospital
was over thirty years ago  
I'd drank a bottle of whiskey, along with generous tasters
of everything else in the drinks cabinet, I was around eight
they said I should have died  
   
There's a chill outside tonight  
the ominous shadows of the old church guarding the old asylum    
compliment each other with varying degrees of creepy    
it's just a matter of sucking the life outta this spliff    
before I can get back to the atmospherics    
of Surgical ward D  
   
If it was up to me, I wouldn't be caught dead in this place    
even though my face was starting to look    
like it went three rounds with Ali  
and I looked like I'd been pulled out of some river    
after three days lying on the bottom    
swelled out and giving off that dead-man shine    
   
I'm sore, been pricked and prodded for three weeks now    
and it'll be at least two days more    
long ol' days before I can leave this ward    
and close the door on this nightmare    
   
thing is, while I'm sure that I'll be walking out of here    
they've said it could have been different    
and looking around at the company    
men, having their shitty nappies changed by nurses  
and walking around with bags of urine    
unresponsive, incoherent, and soon to be carted off    
to the nursing home around the corner    
After all these years of tempting fate, It's time to accept that I'm mortal.        
    
 
 
 
 
Many thanks for all the best wishes over the last few weeks, much appreciated.