[A/N] This freehanded poem was written while I was waiting for my mum to
pick me up from school when I was sick, and then it slowly evolved into a
vampireish poem with a gothic, Medieval feel to it, kind of written from
the POV of someone who died from the plague.

Sickness crawling over me,
It will not yield.
I'm trapped,
With no one to save me.

Can't let go
It won't let go
It will not show
Any mercy.

It's holding me tightly,
It is squeezing me,
Until my ribs crack,
And I lose the ability to breathe.

I know I'm going to die now.
It is my destiny.
I can't escape my destiny.
It will kill me til I'm dead.

Stone cold now,
In a damp grave,
The smell of rotting flesh is suffocating.
The maggots eating me, just so corrupting.

Now I'm only a pile of bones.
The maggots have long gone.
So has my soft, baby like skin.
Soon they will come and reuse my grave,
Disturbing my eternal rest.

They will pay.
Disturbing my sleep.
They have awoken the dead,
Skin, muscles and blood replenished,
I am now living, yet dead.

Living on sweet mortal blood,
They cannot kill me,
I will not rest until I kill
all the people responsible
for my awakening.

The priest is dead,
And the church is desecrated.
All the family of the new resident of MY grave
are dead.
Soon I'll be able to slumber once again.

There's no rest for the wicked,
My Lord won't take me
Into His arms.
A minion of Satan I remain,
I cannot even see sunlight.

I have decided.
I will watch my last sunrise,
Maybe then the Lord would embrace me.

It was beautiful.
And I am no more.