At the strike of twelve,my thoughts churned and melted And all I could see was black Then Death came into view A cloak wrapped around his body Gnarled fingers pointing At an old wooden sign Faded words spelling 'H E L L'
I screamed at my dream self Telling her to refuse Telling her to stay away From the path we all dread But she went in anyway Footsteps echoing until it faded Her figure semi-transparent Vaporizing slowly I wanted to run to her And that's when I saw my body
Wrinkled and damaged Injured in several places My face was no longer That beautiful thing It used to be But I could still run I ran until I was just three feet away from her
But a hand held me back It belonged to Death "I have to help my past self!" I shouted at his cloaked face,
"Why?it's only your youth that's dying."