Oh, little slice of death
I’m crazed and hungry
for your stop, your get again
I’m manic fury on my feet
I throw resistant fists
I scratch my eyes to fight
laugh all I want in fearly gasps
because you’re coming
slow and sure it’s just the firsts
the useless dos the crying musts
before you give me all your job
before you finally let me slip
before you bury me again
Day 225 – Little Slice
The 365 Poetry Project 
Reblogged this on About the Jez of It.
The very thought of death being inevitable, is terrifying indeed