Death Comes Creeping

I sit in silence 'cept the sound,
of creaking noises in my head.
The sounds are so much louder,
when daytime soundly sleeps in bed.
I'm thinking that it's only passing age,
I finally hear the turning page,
of life thats getting closer to the end.
I wish I had a friend,
that could hold me till the end.
The noises are always the same,
they don't make me writhe in pain,
but are more like hushed voices
on the tail of summer breeze.
Straining to hear them,
just causes slight unease.
Sometimes I think maybe
when I get to hear them clearly
that I'll find they're just the voices,
of the friends I'll see in hell.
And the one that sounds like creaking
is the gateway door that's nearly,
eyes wide open from the choices,
live, made secret, death will tell.
Alone in deep thought,
I go through baggage I have brought,
upon others and myself.
I find there's no more room,
and start anew on one more shelf.