Fly

I lie on my back listening to the sound of a fly dying,
buzz buzz buzz
His little flailing legs put up a fight every so often.
He lies on his back too, staring at the same ceiling as me,
the same spinning fan.
He too contemplates the life ebbing from his body
but his end seems nearer and in fear
he struggles.
I think I have more time than him
but I may not.
I may be soon buzzing on my back
in terror
as my own darkness closes in on me.
For now, I abandon the thought
and sweep him away with the dust.