Just how close is the closest you've 

 been to oblivion? Do you wonder about all 

 the times death has brushed past you, grazing your 

 arm while on the search of another bead for its  

 garland? Do you drill the rosy image of death in  

 your skull, or are you beyond that phase? 

Are you trying to push it through the cracks, 

 or have you pushed it through the cracks? 

Have you found hypocrisy  twisting the tails of 

 your sentences before you can finish them- 

"I'd rather die"- while you walk without a scratch? 

I think death is curious. Don't you want to dive when   

 the pain starts stinging your eyes to the point you  

 can't even cry, but when the tips of swords prick  

 your back, what would you trade not to have to 

 jump? 

Because we do not spend all our time looking out a  

 window and asking, "how little am I?" 

We think about the constant screaming and  

 gnawing in our bellies, just enough food to quiet it 

 down, but never so much that it extinguishes the  

 embers that give us meaning-perhaps.