You must look back,
all the things in this world will last only for a moment
do you not remember me?
My one and only.

Morie, I know how it feels like
to perish with your own hands,
will you endure for me?
Or will you live for your selfish acts?
Morie, you must remember me.

My eyes were glued by the way
you stroll your naked feet
down that hollow path,
I could not penetrate my emotions
I buried beneath the tenders of this black forest,
your face was glowing  like it was sun-kissed.

Your lips curving into a flawless beam,
it was filtered with the hue of a poached tomato
your fists were of terrified by what it discovers
the smell of your honeycomb fragrance
stuck through my nostrils and your soft brown silk hair
sways into your naked back,
oh, what a sweet body I am yearning to taste.

I am dying to be with you
how I long to run away with you
how I craved of you lying beside me
I am reckless to know,
I am in great remorse.

You were searching around,
your emerald eyes pierce into mine
the way it forced me to meet you somewhere
in another realm where I am no Death, and
you are no Prisoner of the dead.

Until your soft voice let out an awful cry,
Morie, do you not want me?

The distant thump of your footsteps
taking you away from me,
brought me back to my reverie.
Why are you doing this?

You ran as swift as you can
go around in an endless loop
you can't escape me, you can't hide forever.

Morie, how does it feel like
to perish with your own hands?

I am here to bring you back
of your lost memories
of your lost soul wandering
yet you rose from the dead — hid under
the rainbow cloud
the clock spending until the last dime,
traveling hands will decide when it's time.

Memento mori
remember your death,
it was destiny that called
you are to be mine.

Morie, remember me
I am Death, I will go after you
the time ticks now
hide before I catch you.

I used to speak a language that had no limitations.
I could speak to the birds,
Ask them how it felt to fly.
I could speak to the trees,
Ask them how tall they could grow.
I could speak to the wind,
Ask it where it was going.
I could speak to the babbling creek,
Ask it why it was so talkative.
Ah, the visible world was so chatty back then.
I could even speak to the invisible world.
My imagination would sometimes come to life.
It would often be my company through the days.
As I grew older my world became less talkative.

How did that language go?

The higher you climb, the further you’ll fall,
With a mindset like that,
you will never stand tall.

What you should instead remember,
when you fight against time,
is that the best view
comes after the hardest climb