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 )
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(22 March 1941 -)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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