Falling asleep, one more time
Like a tree, dropping a lime.
Fading so fast, losing light
Such the moon, night by night.

A cold chill, holding my skin
Death’s sickle, below my chin.
His silent voice, so moistly cold
Under his hood, below the fold.

“Follow me, into dark”
“For now, I make my mark”
The blade, slits perfect
But no pain, none to the neck.

Now following, to death’s door
Dark and gloomy, and nothing more.
Three taps, only deaths sickle
The door open, all so fickle.

I open my eyes, staring around.
Waiting for everything, even a sound
Only blackness, surrounds me now
There is nothing, no god to allow.