I am nothing without death.
The very core of my being is nothing but an empty shell, scraped clean by an uncaring world and cast away without a thought.
I try to smile, but it’s frozen on my face a mockery, betrayed by my cold, vacant stare that never blinks, yet sees nothing.
I have turned my back on the comforts of home. A home that has cast me out, banished me.
The only spark is the one you give, one that can sear as easily as it can warm. I fear it. And yet long for it every dark, dark night.
Nothing without death? I am death. I am waste and emptiness and fleeting light and eventual darkness and rot.
Why should you care? Because I am so very near. I lurk just beneath your notice. I’m there in plain sight. Ever watching. Ever waking. I’m out there. Right now. Outside your door.
You made me. I am yours. And you will cast me aside. And still I will be watching, when the true death finally claims me.
And you’ll put me through this again when the time comes.
For what is All Hallows without me to welcome it?