The Last Thing I Ever Saw Poem by Maxwell Searcy

(based on a much older, much shorter, much cheesier, much dumber poem)

I wrote a story.
And you were in it.
And it was damn good.
And I was proud of it.
And I called you one night.
And it wasn't really night.
And it wasn't really me.
And you weren't really you.
And you asked to hear it (my story) .
And I read to you over the telephone, under the covers, from a laptop screen that almost smelled like a fresh ribbon and oiled pieces of iron pressed with a crisp alphabet.
And you
wondered
why you died in the end.
And I said-

But the truth is that we all die in the end.



you just lived long enough
to be mentioned.