From curling gray smoke, a hand reaches
Skeletal fingers stretching, twisting toward me,
Clawing through shadow, desperate, unrelenting.
Eyes burn in the void, cold and unblinking,
Following my every move, hungry for my breath.
The mist coils like serpents, choking the air,
Whispers slither along the walls,
And the hand twists closer,
Its pale knuckles brushing the edges of my skin,
Grasping, searching, never letting go.
Shadows writhe in ashen folds,
The world bends around the watching eyes,
And the night hums with a slow, patient hunger.
Even the faintest light recoils,
Leaving only the hand and eyes alive,
A pulse of darkness that reaches,
Always reaching,
For me.