they say I’m little much
so I hide and lose myself.
they say I’m little less
so I crawl back and find myself.
they say I’m gross,
Death trails me with his crimson jowls
His face a skull of flesh picked clean
I try, but can’t hold back the howls
And so, out comes a tortured scream
His cold look of a constant wait
Heats slowly up into a stare
My chest fills with his violent hate
To breathe, I must, I gasp for air