The Dead of the Night

It comes to me in the early hours

Hands outstretched, hungry for life

Yet all I can offer are dreams

 

Glaring at me with wicked eyes

Salivating at the thought

It may eat me yet

 

Devour the whole of me

Swallowed and digested

Until my fragments

Are no longer beings

 

Just a collection

Of flesh and splintered bones

Clumps of deterioration

 

Regurgitated

Settled

Disintegrating

 

Slivers of life that once were

Slowly fading to air

This is how I turn to dust

 

 

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