The shadow that protects

in reality, it is with me. It slides like a wet cloak over my skin, calls my name with an empty voice, and sits by my side when the world changes. It is not my enemy, nor a wandering specter.

It is my guardian, My shadow is like a harbinger of doom, it does not enter the storm, but glides in silence. It watches me from the coldest corner of my mind, where memories tremble and fears nest.

Her scythe does not kill; it only slices through time. And every night, when her eyes close, she wraps me in her cloak of silence. She watches over me.

She protects me from the living, from their lies, from their broken promises. In that dream, I walk through nonexistent corridors, where the walls weep dried blood and the clocks turn back.

Death is leading the way Not with words, but with its mere existence My shadow is all tangled up with mine, and we are one and the same; the sleeper and the waiter The one who breathes and the one who no longer needs.

No one screams There is no pain, only a macabre calm, like the last breath before oblivion. In that moment, it hits me: dying is not the final stop It's time to rest The embrace is always true The shadow always accompanies me, like an old friend.