An odd sort of Poetry · death is a good friend

Death to help me


I see Death

and I hear Death

I know Death.

we chat often,

and it seems we enjoy each other’s company

a bit too much.

it is a constant company

when everything else is not

when everyone else leaves.

sometimes Death takes them,

but I don’t hold it against him.

he’s never taken me.

he only picks and chooses

little pieces of my soul;

they wither up and die.

but not to worry,

Death is always here, by my side,

to help me

dig their graves.


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