and when it is dark,
when all you hear is the sound of silence,
when the darkness is finally tangible
who is it that you turn to?
to be saved from the monsters under the bed,
or from those on top of it?
which is your weapon of choice?
is it your words, sharp as a knife,
or your body, fragile as glass?
perhaps you’re one of the enlightened ones,
and realize that salvation is impossible.
it is of no matter.
you’re mine to claim,
and I’m coming for you.
every breath you take,
every step your light foot treads,
brings you to me.
your final destination is a constant.
roar with anger,
despair in hopelessness,
it is of no concern to me,
for I am DEATH,
and you have no say in this matter.