His eyes are white-light ceiling bulbs
his teeth syringe needles
he's attended by a retinue of shiny scarab beetles
I stood a-teertering on the vacuum-breathing brink,
where you fall with the weight of a single thought you think...
where laughing things rise to find they truly sink
and white on white on white on white is the color of my ink
I didn't pass through the tunnel; the tunnel passed through me;
death will not hesitate to come unseasonably...
It takes joy in coming unreasonably...
I remember death-I remember death, oh but yes:
I've bargained with that smug old merchant of rest
though that time is past, and I pretend we never met
you know what hasn't happened-will, onward, happen yet...
I no longer taunt the lion, nor will walk the edge.
I withdrew from the void that shimmers past the ledge,
But every morning when I wake
I see the shadows smile
I know that it is but his whim to bide a while...
What do I see, in the dusty mirror? Not a human being but a human error.
You know who...
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