Eyelids frosted shut,
Gentle glistens of ice protrude alongside the edges,
A glimpse of ethereal immortality,
Regardless of the state of death this body beholds.
If corpses could walk,
Perhaps such enormous fatigue,
Sunken, ****** eyes,
Quivering, unstable limbs and a dry, bitten mouth,
Would not be so abnormal here.

Alas I am a frightful spirit to all who glance upon me,
Bringing their soul right the edge of their chests,
Bursting through their throats in heaving fits of fear.
When wisps of energy return to me by the moonlight,
Everyone whispers of dark magic, necromancy.
The true view,
Seen from the eyes of creatures of the night,
Is only a mortal,
Wriggling about in a futile fight to survive,
Unable to muster any will under daylight.