Death to me is a reoccurring character in my life. He haunts me, yet watches me as well, out of curiosity as of what will happen next. Kinda like "Meet Joe Black." He acts as a telepathic voice of reason that echoes in me, reverberates. If I keep things interesting for death, he leaves me alone. I would hate to see what would happen if I bored death. He will give me that inevitable bony finger up my ass. Pardon my French.
Death is perverted, kinda. He might be French as well.
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