Meeting the Reaper

As days go by My body is still Life goes on But I never will. Not after Death has trot His horse up to my wandering soul And beckoned me to take a hold Of his hand, his skeleton hand That took my breath and slapped my face Down in the dirt and mud and waste Such a disgrace! I stood back up, brushing myself clean. Then I spit in his face Asking "Now who's the disgrace?" As I turned to walk away, He grabbed my hair with a fist to my dismay Stared into my eyes with his abysmal sockets, Whispering the words that still echo in my vacant skull: "Impetuous mortal who shows no fear, You are nothing, a speck of sand beneath my feet I hold your pathetic life in my hands I decide when to pull the plug. Which is now..."