It's the twelve nights of chicken parts!

The fog that rolls off my brain in the morning as hot water impacts across my naked skin stretched taught over my smooth skull is placed their each night by the magical dance of memory loss and Death's gilded hand of skeletal disgust for life.  I see him dance his anorexic form under his sexy black velvet robe.  A twinkle in his eye socket of the souls he has collected, he winks at me with intent for he has no fleshy eyelids to twitch with.  He saunters up to my bedside and presses one ethereal bony middle finger into my forehead sinking it right into my grey matter.  It’s kind of like a little FU, just to let me know who’s the boss in this land of life and death.  He stands up, does a dance of delight, which involves a few hip thrusts at my expense and then the tooth fairy of old age and pestilence is off to fracture another middle aged memory.