Poetry · volume 1
Individual
Face the reaper, the creatureIt comes to feast on your featsYour trophies, your accomplishments, your retreat It seeps in through the cracks in the seatNext to the dust and dirt and debrisThat you missed when you left the laundromatAnd drove to the twenty dollar car washBecause you were too lonely to go home He who lives by himselfMust also die alone