Failing light the fallen rain congers danger Between bouts of nausea I watch him ******* breath from mewling infants, opening plague tombs, unwinding sheets, and I cringe with the fear of being buried alive.
Clinging to bones, scant hair on a withered head, I cry burning tears, my face seamed with scars. Not dead yet, but powerless to refute him.
Leagues of the dead march by rank after rank of their numbers never staggering to an end,
I try to rise, wheezing , tongue swelled over teeth eyeballs bulging, as their footsteps grow louder.
Still I dangle chained to this moment terrified , as nightmare rears its head but even more frightened of dying.