In the cemetery
surrounded by headstones
worn away by the years to look like a line of gagged teeth
Mist creeps over the pits and raises of the land
somewhere an owl "whos"
and in the distance a wolf howls
it's a full moon
creepiness out to play
hands dig through the loam
coming after you
dragging decayed body's after themselves
your surrounded by death
the grim reaper at the helm
the rotten hands grab at you
slack mouths gaping
lidless rotten eyes staring
the breath of death on your neck
being pulled by the hands
into your grave
there is no fight
you can not win
this is your dying day