His Name is Death

I’ve only seen him three times. Each time is as painful as the last. He leaves a lingering pain behind that burns for hours after hours. I hate him. I hate the way he radiates shock and confusion, and then leaves me in grief for months afterwords. He is cloaked in darkness, but somehow I wish he would just take me. To me, his voice sounds sweet against the darkness he has already brought me. I want only to go with him. He has destroyed everyone I need, now he has only to destroy me. I hate him, and everything about him. But I want him desperately. He is called Death.

-This journal poem is fictional and does not reflect my personal thoughts or experiences

-Please comment your thoughts or a short journal poem of your own.