Death is a mere inch
or so away;
he stares in at us

day after day,
hour by hour,
moment by moment.

His cold fingers touch,
icily run down the spine;
shivers remember that?

Well Death
was just trying you out,
giving you the feel.

Death will leave you be
for a year or a day
or maybe

a whole decade
or more;
but it's just

a waiting game,
so get living,
take that vacation,

have that read
or go play pool
or have ***

or eat your fill
until you're ill,
but in the end,

my friend,
Death is there,
rubbing his

bony hands;
but Death’s only

a transporter
to another place,
deeper,

calmer,
warmer,
but Death

won't tell you such,
he'll just pretend
it's the end.