I've heard that Death wears a mask of something familiar

I had that dream again.

the one where I'm just lying with you
my head in your lap.
you push my hair back and try to speak
but the words stick in your throat
like wisps of angora, too soft for this world
and too quick to abandon you with the first breeze.
because we both know what this really is.

something terrible is coming
it won't touch you.
it doesn't want you.
but you can't stop it.
and you know
it's coming
for me.

I lie there in silence
hoping maybe,
-just this once-
just for a moment...

but the lights are getting brighter.
I close my eyes
focusing on your fingers,
settled in my hair, twirling idly,
and your angora voice shakes
when you tell me to run.

I know it won't help.
I've run all those other times.
when I run it gets dark and cold
and you're not there.
I tell you I'm done running.


You chuckle softly and squeeze my hand.
"You don't have choice. You have to go."
I turn to see your face
the light is blinding now, and burning hot
a thousand spotlights
and a million eyes
burning holes in our paper flesh
but I can make out a faint smile.
"You need to go up for air."

The light burns out
and the weight on my chest is crushing
everything is slow and painful
and when I finally catch my breath
I'm awake
and you're not there.