Death is knocking at my door,
Black stained with white shadows,
Nothing remains of his eager presents,
But a sad tragedy of life.

My heart, merely open,
is incapable of loving.
Life is nothing but life for the living,
I tell myself, life is not worth living,
For my misfortunes are not accepted,
Nor regarded for praise.

Death and I both know there
Is nothing left in the world,
To seek happiness in a dying life,
There will never be content in
The hurricane of storms that
Roam my thoughts,
Drowning my entire essence,
Covering the wedge I live upon.

We have an understanding,
He and I.
One in which we must obey,
That when I am tired and useless,
My life shall shatter and fall.

But I am still waiting,
On that faithful day,
One in which he and I
Understand that life
Is useless for the living.

But till then,
I am patiently waiting,
Waiting to stop fearing of horror,
And start my life in harmony,
For I am not his slave.
And life is worth living.