I feel its hand upon me.
It stands in the void, shapeless and devout of position.
I stare it down, it does not waver.
I yell for it to leave, it does not heed my warning.
When I go, it will devour me.
It rests upon my bed, impersonating a loved one.
Although it has no face, it stares at me ominously.
Although it has no soul, I can feel its desire.
It waits because it must.
It can no more falter from its course than a bird can falter from song.
I let it take me.
Not because I do not fear, nor because I am ready.
I go because it is time.
Its warmth invites me in.
Its embrace tears me away.