Sick
At midnight, when I close my heavy eyes,
And leave the war-torn universe behind,
I lumber lamely toward ethereal cries…
The splintered echoes screaming in my mind.
The noise, the noise… it twists me into knots,
And in the dark recesses… bloody stares,
My creaking steps, a moldy stench of rot,
A deathly shudder creeping through the air.
I see her waiting; mistress of my pain,
With mane of white and gown of ash and lace,
Her waning wisps of youthfulness remain,
While cracked, the aged mask upon her face.
And as her steely talons pierce my skin,
My heart stops while the real nightmare begins.
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