Just A Little Bit
Extinction does not count the days.
Before the end.
Send by time.
In more or less a given line.
Destroyer by destruction.
As if, predictors no the way.
Every year, so they say.
I gather every single one.
I am alone with my bloodless bones.
What I read was written in red.
Corpses are customized to be, the dead.
Guess who is counting.
The equation used by Madam Death.
If you display to be alive.
By a twitch in your stitch.
Simplest of anyway is her ways.
Off with your head.
You have to die.
Wipe your tears.
Byte your lip.
Close your eyes.
I will not lie.
In this house of glass.
My silver is cast in brass.
This is going to hurt.
Just a little bit.
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Comments about this poem (Just A Little Bit by Unic Cjonr )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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