Nightly Visitors

With every breath I take, I feel my soul cutting the ties that connect it to this cursed casket they call my body.

As I lay awake, I can hear the whispers of the doomed, breathing icy warnings of my inevitable fate.

They do not tell me when, where or why.
But as I do each night, I thank them with a face so pale and white.

At the stroke of midnight only do they wither back into the cracks of my heart.
Only to return night after night,
After night

- Zizzy M.