I cannot feel, cannot speak.
Death is inevitable, now that I have nothing.
I'm trying to stop but I just keep running,
My heart slowly becoming meager and weak.
Death, chasing me, for I'm easy to tweak,
It feels as if Death is hunting.
He may give chase but his sythe is blunting,
Death, come to me, lest you lose your streak.
His prescence merely a distant hum,
His prescence is near though I'm already gone.
Taking this was never a talent, sorry now well life moves on,
Speak slowly now, and Death will come.
xoXoxDanniexoXox Community Member 
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