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






Slivers of life that once were

Slowly fading to air

This is how I turn to dust