Ever since my childhood awareness of mortality,

I perceived death as a stalker, shadowing me.

I would periodically look back over my shoulders

to ensure my feet were well ahead of it.

Cautionsly, I ran;

it was easier in my youth;

aging can alter the inertia,

skew the pursuit, distorting the gap.

　

Today, I stopped running

to let my thoughts catch a breath,

to pant over the end of this pavement,

the gravel beyond it,

the dirt road beyond that, and farther along

trail ruts and wilderness.

　

The omnous threat felt close on my heels,

almost feeling its hot breath on my neck.

Turning around to face the inevitable,

I was surprised at my impatience with its arrival,

drawing breath after breath,

anticipating the ravaging devour.

Eventually, its approach came into view,

a slow gait quickening in the distance

as if recognizing my stationary stealth,

its excitement proportional to my dread

standing on this self-determined finish line.

　

I closed my eyes and trembled,

fearing the face of its open-jawed countenance.

A sensationless pause opened my eyelids

to see my pursuer; it was the face of my life.

　

Then, I devoured myself.