Don't stand at my bedside,

my dear,

your grimacing smile reveals sharp, yellow teeth

like a power-hungry vulture.

My dear,

waiting to prey, gleaming eyes. I

pity the honeyed lies

that hover about your crooked mouth.

They fool the world, not me.

Ghosts of my hopes, dissipated at last,

my dear.

Can you not see him, the Reaper?

His grey scepter held high

inside me, in cracked, dry walls

that trap my curious mind. We are ready,

my dear.

My living days have cloaked my eyes

with arrogance and pride.

Too late, it is falling and crumbling, now.

My dear,

with nothing left of me to consume;

Don't stand at my bedside.