My Own Raven

This black feathered fucker
perched on my shoulder
whispers to me

remember, that somewhere,
there's a patch of land waiting
for your carcass.

If you're lucky,
people will weep for you,
if you're lucky.

And those people
will face the same fate.

And your gravestone will decay.
And your bones will decay,

And the remaining memories of you
will decay.

And there'll be no more opportunities
to face up to the things you're afraid of.