Tricks lick ticks from the tongue.
Reaching slowly for a gun.
Running swiftly for your son.
He won’t help you now.
Pray. Pray to the God of the Heavens,
That He will have mercy on your wretched,
Squeamish soul as you crawl through the
Dirt, hoping for one last breath.
Death comes to us all. Beneath our hopes
And dreams, denials and delusions, we all
Know it. Death whispers our name as we
Get ready for work, as we drive to work,
As we forget out troubles in our daily routine,
As we come home to our spouse and children,
As we lay our heads on the pillow and fade off
To sleep. Death watches us breathe. Death
Hears our yearnings, our curses, our sighs.
Death is our constant companion from “the
cradle to the grave”. Death waits.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 
On “dark days,” it seems I sense death waiting a little more impatiently. “Death watches us breathe.” love that line…
pw
I know what you mean. And sometimes we find ourselves yearning for our own destruction. Death is a tricky fellow. And also an impatient one, like ourselves. Glad you liked that line. Eerie, isn’t it? Did you read my story poem, “Murder Fund”?