from the ages of twelve to eighteen,
a future of death awaits us. it beckons us
to lay ourselves down in a grave made just for us,
our names already sketched on rotting tombstones.
the grim reaper knows our names by heart
and lingers around until our time is up,
the boom of the cannon like music to his ears;
he doesn't care if we are just children.
am i going to die today, alone in these woods?
is the boy from district 2 coming back to do the job?
or will katniss and i be the first tributes to go back home
together, both holding the crown?
i won't be put into a wooden box today,
the grim reaper will have to wait for us.
