A Posthumously witty Ditty

It's hard to watch yourself become posthumously demised

It's even harder to write yourself into a state of demise

Ten drafts and ten fake stories later

I am ready to try anything...maybe if I lay in a coffin

I can eerily live the experience...ugh...goosebumps

my imagination seems to have deserted me...maybe if I -

make up a slue of illustrious achievements to boast about.

Sigh!

Sadly, I just have ole, regular, ordinary me to contend with

and she is not made of the dead stuff that wins the bounty

or so she imagines...maybe she may surprise herself...

alas and woe is me....

Demised me never climbed Mt. Everest...she only saw mountains in the distance

Nothing important or newsworthy to report

My drafts seem all irascible and irritable

nugatory - with no value or importance

Posthumous me is dull and boring

Unless I lionize my demise into a humorous boutade -

with witty playful remarks

I fear I have no idea how to escape the kenopsia -

how to escape the haunting emptiness of a life, which

once filled this space, but has now become eerily quiet

Oh, how to recount an author profile of my death.

I have only the beginnings of many drafts

now lost to denouements - trying to find

the final encapsulation of plot, film or play.

Woe!