This is what your dying looks like.  
You believe in the sun. You believe
I don't love you. Always be closing, 
Said our favorite professor before
He let the gun go off in his mouth.
I turned 29 the way any man turns
In his sleep, unaware of the earth
Moving beneath him, its plates in 
Their places, a dated disagreement.  
Let's fight it out, baby. You have
Only so long left. A man turns 
In his sleep, so I take a picture.  
He won't look at it, of course. It's
His bad side, his Mr. Hyde, the hole
In a husband's head, the O
Of his wife's mouth. Every night,
I take a pill.  Miss one, and I'm gone.
Miss two, and we're through. Hotels
Bore me, unless I get a mountain view, 
A room in which my cell won't work,
And there's nothing to do but see 
The sun go down into the ground 
That cradles us as any coffin can.