A Delayed Homecoming


He's stalking me.
A heavily cloaked specter.
He's stalking me.
Brandishing his ever-blunt scythe.
He's stalking me. I know it.
His twisted feral smirk tells all
As his skeletal hands reach for me.
At last comes he!
My Reaper. My Savior. My Death.


A/N: Pure angst, eh? I do enjoy writing Death poetry. Bit of an amusement for me, anyway.