Work Text:
Your body is rotting.
That must be the only explanation
As to why you are always tired,
And why you can never keep warmth—
Even the Ghost following is warmer compared to you.
You feel like you’re dying,
Or perhaps you already are.
The truth of the matter is: you would rather be.
It doesn't matter if anyone would miss you,
Or if your body would be found.
Because no one would care
To mourn
And you’d rather skip the humiliation
Of even entertaining the thought.
Instead, you dream of death;
It kisses you in your sleep
And keeps your frozen body warm.
Never burning, for you’ve long lost sensation
To such agonizing pain.
But you know Death is gentle.
You grew up on the stories
About Her gentle hands and
Kind nature;
You once even called Her mom.
Your body is rotting,
This you know.
And She must too,
To be reaching for you so early.
How sweet,
For your death to feel more like home.