The Stalker

Death.

Death is following me,

Stalking me,

Watching me.

As I struggle for breath, my lungs cold and hard, I can smell it

Death.

Its putrid, rancid smell of emptiness, loneliness and inevitability seeps into my nostrils,

My heart,

My lungs.

I do not run from it,

Death,

It only follows like a shadow

Without flesh, looming, looming over me,

Suffocating me.

I struggle again for one pure breath before it consumes me.

We are not people to it,

Death,

We are merely conquestsâ?¦trophies.

We fear him,

It,

Why?

Because when weâ??re dead, thatâ??s it, no going back.

But

We can be reassured

That when we do leave, we will be missed

And that someone cared and loved us.

So, let us our two gold coins to pay the boatman for our passage,

And know this

Whether I go to heaven or hell,

Zeus or Hades,

I leave with

Love.