Come for me, Death

He is a disease – an epidemic of fear, hate, and peace.
The cold tongue of Death tickles the ears of the unsuspecting, the innocent, the brave,
Taunting, teasing, tearing at the walls surrounding the souls clinging to Life.
Tall and foreboding, his scythe leaves dark stains of agony and torment along the ground,
Cries of despair and pain are the sound his footsteps make.
 
Look upon him and you’ll see only his smile as he cloaks the world in fright.
Fading out the echoes of false hopes and broken dreams,
He lets them rest long enough for them to feel safe before he strikes again.
A tombstone covered in rotting leaves and moldy flowers,
Death grins as more become his.
 
He comes for me and I decide to go willingly, moving towards the scythe before him.
I place my hand in his bone-cold grasp,
And let him lead me away into his world of silence.
Perhaps I should be afraid, isn’t that what most living souls would be?
But how could I, when I knocked on Death’s door?
 
Now that I’ve walked away from Life,
Six feet under, I’ve found the sleep I’ve waited so long for.
The screams and pains that Life once offered,
are fading fast into a world I never really knew.
Thank you, Death, you have given me life,
Now I must rest in peace, embraced by what they call suicide.