Always breathing down your neck.
Impatient for a deadline.
"Are you done yet? Are you finished?"
It's not your boss.
And you still have a lot left to do.
Yet here it is. Hovering.
You don't have to turn around to know it's there.
And sometimes you catch glimpses in the mirror.
Gone before your eyes meet.
So familiar. Can it really be the same face that always stares back at you?
You're never any younger, yet it stays the same,
But seemingly more impatient. Or perhaps you're just paranoid?
Hopefully. Either way, you're on your toes.
"Psych!" Another joke without a punchline.
You aren't laughing. Too many of these as of late.
You can only pray that you are dancing, not dodging.
Because you are a better dancer.
And your friend will have to wait.
You're not finished, no you're not.
You're not finished, no you're not.
Until your mind and body die and rot,
Just give it everything you've got.