With each and every exhaled breath
Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock, the old clock marches on
I draw one step closer to my own death
‘Til my shadow resting on wall is gone
He’s oft’ maligned the so-called “Grim Reaper”
Ne’er eating, ne’er sleeping, adorned in black
Lives alone…an existential creeper
Arrival oft’ sudden…no time to pack
Located his name in telephone book
The message said “out, call you back later”
I hastily placed phone back on the hook
My mind fixated on six feet of crater
True to his word he indeed did call back
Seemed almost remorseful, zippering sack
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