The Debt Collector
He stands at the threshold, three raps on the door,
A shadow that’s come to collect.
You can hide in the hallway or crouch on the floor,
But he’s a guest you can’t ever reject.
Ignore the vibration, the wood, and the iron,
He’s coming with thunderous force.
Your life is a contract, your breath is the bargain,
And nature must follow its course.
He doesn’t do business, he doesn’t make trips,
No mercy, no "one more day."
With a perfect record and blood on his lips,
He’s taking you either way.
The lock is a lie and the bolt is a ghost,
He’s dragging you into the cold.
For he counts every heartbeat and yours was the last—
Another soul bought, another soul sold.








































































































