The story of my death

Death is a brooding thought

A firefly in the dark

I think it

It vanishes

Somewhere inside the labyrinth

Of my head

Death is a culled flower

On my careful palm

I smell it

It dissolves

Somewhere inside the capillaries

Of my chest

 Death is a story

Handcuffed to my life

It searches me

Every moment

Somewhere inside the fabric

Of my time

Someplace

Not far from the place I die

I know

I am

The death of death when it reaches me

I am

The end of story of the story of death