Death

Woke up with troubled thoughts
with the scent of wounds and burned cuts.
Presence of death like it was taking notes,
on the best way to slit my throat.
Had a painful sleep, my breath disposed fear
And though I had no dreams, my eyes let out tears
I cried red water, eyes rusted
For I never cried as the years got rugged.
Then it touched me; cold icy hands
Looked me in the eyes and asked for a dance.
Shame and pride
My sins so white
I was to be death's beloved bride.
The horror tasted sweet,
the darkness a work of art,
No more words to say as death could do us no part.