He stands alone, tall and dark and waiting.
He turns his back, revealing very dark dreads.
He smiles and whispers, making, creating.
His name is Death, but he looks like Heaven.
Tears escape his eyes, but fades when he blinks
I can tell he's trapped, ready to escape
From the inside, good is overthrown-sinks
Down to no possible escape and drapes.
Then, he frowns; darkness shapes like a clover
And he wraps his dark, long arms around me.
Engulfing me in blackness that takes over.
I let darkness take over, and I see
That it's my only choice, nothing else is.
I'm under his dark spell, and I am his.
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