Where did the Days go?

So It's the seventh. Which officially means I'm two days behind, not forgetting that I must also post for today. So I am going to poem you out. Ok?

You don't have to answer that.

There's something very fascinating to death. Not the I'd-love-to-jump-off-a-bridge-and-experience-it-myself kind of fascinating. But after love, death is the next most written about subject. (I don't actually know that, I'm just giving you facts to impress you.)

So while this poem is about death, please don't worry for my sanity!

Onwards!

Flower Pot

Gentle, fragile, flower pot.

While I lay here, while I'm shot.

Laying bleeding on the ground

See your vase small and round.

Glimmering in the monotone sky

Slowly, fading, in blurry eye.

Out kicks my foot, with a spasm

You tip forwards toward the chasm.

Between the space of table and chair

Flowers spilling our with flair.

Shaking breaths I try to take.

While your glass begins to break.

Final beatings of my heart,

Quieter now then at the start

And at last, still I lie,

Water spreading without Goodbye.

Sorry about the excessive coma's, punctuation really is not my strong suit!