Taxes

You're falling apart, you know.
Some hair left behind
In the brush
Some particles of blood
Out with the cough;
Fingernails. Phlegm. Tears.
You're leaving bits of yourself
Everywhere you go,
And that is how we die;
Not in radical explosions
Or eaten by escaped zoo animals,
But with the application
Of a creeping pressure
Gradually splitting one
Small seam
At a time.