death has arrived 
at my door again
ninth day in a row.
it reaches out 
in whispers 
to snap once and for all
the frail fiber
on which I am hung 
to the edge of life.
this time I will go to bed
without hope in my heart
knowing full well 
that this pain will not drop.
this pain will not drop
for here it is.
its cure lost 
from memory 
and from theory.
the pride of ruin appears
on the foaming mouth.
death has arrived 
at my door again
tenth day in a row.
I think I'll go.