The void
My time is up death is coming
His cold and bony hands are grasping my ankle slowly,
Pulling me into the deep,
A vast void of tombstones and empty graves,
Fog and cold air tickle my neck as I appear in front of him,
I can’t scream, my mouth is sewn shut,
My eyes begin to fall,
My breathing stops,
Death has finally broken my hour glass.
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