Reaching for a soul
That does not exist
Cold bony fingertips
Grasping my throat
Squeezing with so much might
Not expected from a bony mass
Covered in tattered robes
Of dark silken fibers
A scythe held tight in her right hand
Her left hand still at my neck
Quick to strangle me
Like the nuse in my garage
The hands of death
I clasp with my hand
Hold it tightly
Her blank cold stare
Showing a sense of wonder
As I tell her I love her
She releases me
My throat sore
But the pain is masked
I reach for the hands of death
Look into the eyes
Of a thousand souls
I see my own
As I pull her close to me
I want to forever walk beside her
I have never been wanted
The way she wants me
The way she desires my heart and nonexistent soul
Hands of death
I called out to
Wrapped myself in
And peacefully walked beside her
Hand in hand
Till the death of death
Shall we ever consider parting