Swallows- A Poetry Collection

Stars

Please help me,
I feel it coming,
The grasp of Death,
Pulling at my sleeve.

I turn in my restless sleep,
Watching the shadows in the mirror beckon me,
Until my own figure looks different,
And I don't even look like myself,

I'm scared that if I look away,
It'll come towards me,
And I won't see it coming,
Until it's too late.

Please don't leave me,
When you're not even here,
Your fading presence enough to keep me hinged to the Earth,
Rather than floating away.

"Are you scared of falling?",
You would ask,
"Or drowning?"
But I'm just scared by the single act of death.

I'm still young,
My skin is soft,
And my face is youthful,
But I feel so ancient and so frail.

I'm already tired of this life,
When I haven't even lived,
But I don't want it to stop,
Because I know that it will end.

It will end far too soon,
Everyday I fantasise of different ways I'll die,
Or perhaps my funeral,
And what flowers I'll have and what music they will play.

How will it feel?
Will I feel a pain in my heart?
Will I feel as if I'm crumbling to pieces?
Will it be painless?

How can I devote all my time to this?
But I need to know what will happen to me,
For some inexplicable reason,
Because I feel it coming soon.

I'm scared of not being the master of my own passing,
And I don't want to be alone,
In that moment when I'm staring at the ceiling motionless,
Wondering why I can't see the stars.