close to death
I see myself
arising like a bread
bloated blue
floundering, too
not knowing what to do
so dizzy, so weak
there's nothing I seek
but the reaper
and his scythe
I won't say good-bye
I fight the end off
soft lies the pain
part of me of is in the grave
the other half fights very brave
I hear them whisper
I hear them joke
the needles poke my skin
I win, I live
I see Spring again
I do not fear what lies ahead
someday upon my own death bed