Mr. Death


Why hello Mr. Death,
how are you this fine day?
I'm not shocked to see you,
that much I can say.

In fact I'm surprised
that it took you this long.
As it's clear from my looks
that something is wrong.

This coughing and wheezing
are tiresome at best.
It feels like a boulder
resides on my chest.

Pale isn't my color,
that much you can see.
And this bloody hacking
does nothing for me!

Food just tastes empty
and water seems dry.
I'm stuck laying here
watching hours creep by.

So you see my dear friend
why I'm not that perplexed?
My card has been drawn
and I know that I'm next.

Let's keep this simple,
then we both can go.
I'm tired, you're busy
and it's starting to show.

I'll just close my eyes
and you'll lock the door.
Then finally some rest,
undisturbed, evermore.


Let's set the mood, shall we? Mid 1800's, an upper middle class lady is sick with tuberculosis, and an overworked, underpaid Grim Reaper is stopping in for a visit. Is he real or a figment of her fever riddled mind? I'll let you be the judge...