E: the edge

Rin,Tin,Tin the machine gun spoke,
Not macho like the Bren gun,
More tinny and with it smoke.
But in the heart it hit me,
Clipped and tricked and slipped me.
Down I went so quickly,
I had no time to speak,
I just lay there feeling weak.

So on the floor I lay
Coughing blood and matted hair
Staring at the clouds scooting across the day
Then suddenly it hit me
The precariousness of the big sleep
And with that my last breath left me
I lay there to this day.