Please don't walk away.
Please stop by the door.
Don't slam it in my face,
just hear me out.

Time slips past.
Faster than we blink.
One moment it's here,
the next we're dead.

It fears our lives,
we fear its cost.
Taking our breath,
laughing in our faces,
stalking all our good times,
and preparing for failing.

The wire tripped the reaper.
Time to run. Time to hide.
A thinning air is extrememe,
smelling of gin and powder exchanged.
Glass draws my feet to step.
Cracks open my skin,
another way to bleed to my death.

This mirror, so compromising,
promises to never leave.
It will follow wherever I go,
reflecting what I see in ways that are not so.
Believing in its power,
believing in its tower,
I stand tall and firm in the ground,
releasing any wisdom I once discovered.

It tails behind my shadows,
making my life its television;
a laughing stock.
For in the past,
I've escaped the reaper.
Ran so fast so I didn't think twice.
Red dripping down from walls painted gray.
This city is not of black, of not white.
I live in the in-between;
a light that shines to my dismay.