Toxic Inhalation
I wash the sickness from my skin,
But it's still inside me;
Unfiltered, uncleansed.
Originally, it was my choice,
As uncontrolled as the situation might have been.
I could have gotten up,
And walked away from the death,
Or at least tried to hold my breath,
For hour upon hour,
Until I could hold it no longer.
But the air seeps into my skin, surrounding me.
The Death Reaper's claws close around me,
Taunting, silently laughing,
For as much as I cower, I'm still devoured.