On Death Poem by India Mysticali

The gray clouds,
thick fog and mist
prepare the subconscious
for death's sweet kiss.

Let me awaken,
help me to break free
before I stand at
the death infested tree.

Take me back
from death's door
the rusted black iron
that chains me to the floor.

For Death, he wasteth
the living's time
his sword is crusted
with blood, dirt and grime.

Catch me, save me
if I fall
help me, hold me
like a doll

So please, don't fail me
oh savior
don't fail me now.