Death hovers in the air behind her
you can see it
in the creases around her eyes

the lackluster hair and pale skin

you can feel it
the cloud oozing around her

gliding with her where she goes

I see him in her shadow
eyes glowing from her chain-smoked cigarette

she swears she is happy

but his scythe has left fresh marks in her skin
while old ones glare in the brightest light

I think death is in her kitchen
lurking amongst the unclean dishes

and in her bedroom
in the piles of unwashed clothes

the fire inside her is dying
the only twinkle in her eyes
made by fallen tears

and without turning and looking, I know now
death is with me too

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