it latches onto your clothes
it claws at your face
it keeps you from running
and from keeping the pace
you can't hide from it
it's everywhere it can be
it's not just a thought
it's a parasite, like ivy
it snakes up the balcony
it taps on the sill
it casts shadows on the wall
and up your spine, a chill
you can't outrun it
that wouldn't be possible
you can't outrun conscience
and you never, ever will
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poesiai won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
