Death And The Seeker Poem by Hell 'Farya

I puffed until my lungs itched.
Sixteen sticks of the unholy sin,
Chewed every bit like my last.
My rods were not seen by me,
For myself was blind to it.
My heart blackened from impact,
Still, my yearning persisted.
From house to house I entered,
Begging for my own death,
In one of those sits an old fool;
'Have you come seeking death?
Drink with me in this sorrow
For even I, for decades await him
But the bastard has since tarry.'
I had no use for a fool's sorry,
So I went out whooping.
And lo, there he stood,
With his glinting scythe -
I asked if he has a stick for me
And 'yes' the bastard answered...