Death the monster of the night
When it comes for me
I will be ready.
Letters I have sent
begging to be taken away,
have gone unanswered.
My scars
my "postage fees" are useless.
Death does not seem to listen.
I cry out for death to take me away
crying so loud even my enemies notice before he does.
I starve myself
Never eating,
but feeding off of the fantasy that I will encounter death soon,
and perfect my imperfections at the same time.
Death,
a bag of bones I lay before you.
End this pain.
take it all.
When you come death,
*I will be ready