Little Whisper (Age 16)

The narrator is a man who does not realise he has passed away.

I lie awake in my bed, waiting for my light to come, And in the dead of night, sorry whispers do I hear, Inside my body's rigid, in my core my mind is numb, And I lie awake at night, in shock, in ache, in fear. Daybreak, I rise in a haze and drift through halls, Wearily, no sense of true direction or purpose, And slowly, seeing there's no me or you or us, Growing mad, as you indifferently ignore my calls, i tire, your mother seeing fit to visit, ignoring me still, I spy, with every passing word I send, a deep chill. Sitting, hoping, fading as days come and days pass, Sitting, wishing, wading through this waking dream, Grab, lonely man in house of two, grab the thin seam, What recurring feeling is this that you feel, I ask? Why ignore her sudden emptiness and indifference? You think she forgets you, but have you not noticed Each still day you await, she receives recompense For some still-linger tragedy, from relatives in focus? And I say, I cry, what has happened to you, Sir?