Three knocks and I know.

They have come for me.
They come with echoes of the empty that cannot be tamed,
with chains weighing down their bodies,
eyes capturing all of history
in a single glance.

They have come for me.
They come with an aura of despair,
a sickening stench enveloping their very existence.
Not a soul invites their gaze upon them.
Their very presence causes one to run.

But I do not.

They have come for me,
and I am perfectly hopeless in their stare,
shivering in my skin,
waiting in anticipation for the door to creak open.
Waiting for the moment they seize the skin from my body,
my body from my soul,
my soul from my bones,
leaving me barren into dust
that is swept up in the wind
as I am carried along with their despair.

They have come for me.

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