People are dropping dead.

People are dropping dead,
Not many in my town
But in big cities,
They are dying en masse
And the silence is scaring me.

Yet again.

Yet again,
I can hear my own blood
Gushing through my ears,
Silly me, I am scared,
More for my loved ones,
And less for myself.

Will we?

Will we all die soon?
Or shall I survive this?
I hope that if my loved ones die,
I do too.
Because I'm afraid of loneliness,
I have a serious kind of autophobia.

Nay!

Humanity can't go extinct!
Humanity won't go extinct.
It will soon be alright.
Just wait and watch,
How Vishnu takes care of us,
How Shiva takes out the evil,
How the world will turn for good.

"Call me Mother" I told her, the first time I took her home.
She was quiet and I could tell she didn't want to be alone.
Then we approached the front door, where I led her inside.
She waited for a moment, then ran off to hide.
"Hide and seek, oh alright.
But after this, it's nighty-night."
I looked around the house for her,
Until I heard a little stir.
I found the child behind a curtain.
"I knew I'd find you. I was certain."
I grabbed her wrist and down the hall
We walked to her room, I stood tall.
She stayed silent, I think afraid.
But we got to her room: Tidy, bed made.
Others sat upon their beds.
"Go to sleep." they would nod their heads.
Then they slipped under the covers,
And all at once said "Goodnight Mother."
The girl still stood next to me, the youngest one.
I loosened my grip and to her bed she did run.
She slipped into the blanket, closing her eyes.
But I waited there. The others weren't surprised.
"You need to say it." I pulled off her covers.
She opened her eyes, the others shuddered.
"Come on now." I smiled, though it took her a while.
"Fine. Goodnight. But you're not my Mother."

An eldritch aura permeates
a palace, long forgotten.
I fell. Which may illuminate
my place amongst the rotten.

How long these ruins slept, I fear's
a desert measured aeon,
for sand has creep'd and crept in here,
a structure so protean.

This place it whispers death and dust,
a sister to the barrow.
I must escape this depth. I must!
These halls are much too narrow.

The stench of age, it fills the air,
with hints of green and purple.
Appendages, they slither there,
My thoughts they now encircle.

A mutter on the wind calls me,
it sends my digits lame.
Fluttered eyes. Where two should be,
five globules cry my name.

That fickle murmor, foe at first,
but now I know my error.
He tickles thoughts and quenches thirst.
Come, how could it sow terror?

All is well, I've found a friend,
His hug is warm and tight.
His many arms they do not end,
but wriggle, kiss, and bite.