Death is a funny thing.
I pictured him large, intimidating,
With a barbed wire tattoo encircling a large bicep.
I expected to find him lurking in the dark,
With the face of a monster.

Instead he showed up in the daylight, unassuming,
Wearing a bow-tie and a shiny smile.
I only later noticed that under his trench coat,
He hid his secret weapon of cell mutation.

He politely knocked on your door and insisted
To come in and sit down for tea.
Sensing your apprehension, he engaged in silly negotiation
To disguise his true determination.

In the end, he gently took your hand
And slowly pulled you away from me.
He got off on the agony that manifested itself
Within my heart and on my face.
His pleasure increased with each inch he dragged you,
Only reaching ecstasy with the final yank,
When I was sure that my children would never know
Your kindness as I had.