Death holds unto me like a blanket.

It whispers in my ear.

It holds unto my neck as I rose from my bed.

Every step I take chokes me.

Its hands are a shackle on my neck.

And it's the body the weighted ball.

I am a person in my own body.

Subject to its horrifying wishes.

I hate it.

I know it slowly killing me.

But I cannot stop.

I've tried to escape it

But the hands never let go.

God,

Please rescue me.