nothing touches this.
it drips of magic
and revenant textures
layered like sheets
of laughing fog
it bends itself
over and over again
like origami jackals
preparing for a feast

I have found it to be
a bit distracting
I have no place for it
in life
so its unrelenting pursual 
finds me unprepared

it's after you too
last stop all passengers off
it can't be bargained with
and it welcomes you in
with a raven’s caw

I wonder if they’ll visit me
when I’m rotten earth
and the dust of my bones 
has brought new life to the soil
will the daisies that bloom
from the sickly hues
of my final work of art
catch their eyes?
will they pluck them
and in the process
take a bit of me with them?

I can only hope
those newly blossomed daisies 
find their way
to the hands
of a lovely young girl
so she can smile
at death.