Death held me in his arms last night.
Cold fingers stroking my lively and soft flesh as he whispered all the world’s secrets into my ear.
Wolves howled on the hills while doves cooed in the dancing silver gold moonlight.
His sweet breath covered my body as he murmured kisses down my spine,
chilling me to my bones, goose bumps rising on my skin.
He asked me to be his Queen and rule over the dead with him,
wear a crown of gems and stone, my throne made of the ******.
My heart shuddered and grew cold at the thought
and I turned from him, avoiding his endless gaze.
I rose from my bed and ran,
far and away into the fields of another day.
I can never run far enough from him, he hunts me down,
dragging me down to his forbidden depths, his Kingdom.
There I stay, staring into the River Styx eating pomegranate seeds,
dreaming of Life, of warmth,
of tomorrow when I am freed from this cold dead prison.