I am not writing about the end of times,
   because the end is near
Or the mere presence of it, out there peeking,
   from the swaying curtains of of the midnight sun
A haunting aura of eternal despair,
  slowly walking towards my mortal shell
Exposing my mortal pretensions, threatening, frightening
I am not writing about the end of times,
I am writing about me as I face annihilation;
   as my soul anticipates the crash, the big bang,
the unceremonious end!