I am Death.

Afraid?

Don't be.

You'll meet me soon enough.

Let me clarify something.

I do not have a scythe,

And I don't like wearing black clothes.

Black is such a dreary color.

I wander your world,

Searching for the souls,

Who have finally let go.

I do not take them!

What I enjoy most in the mortal world,

Are the colors.

Especially brown.

It's so warm, compared to my heart.

Don't be confused.

I DO have a heart.

A black, cold, and twisted one,

But a heart nevertheless.

Sometimes, I wish

That I was as lucky as you humans.

You fade away to a better place,

But I stay.

I don't know if there is a God.

If there was, why all this suffering?

If there is, why do I have this job?

When will it be MY turn to leave?

 For most souls, I just sling over my shoulder

And carry them away.

But I make an exception

For the young ones.

For the young ones,

I cradle them in my arms,

And collect them gently,

And send them to the stars.

Most souls are afraid when they die.

Or else they are contentedly carried away.

But there are the odd few,

Who sit up and greet me like a friend.

I applaud them,

For I am lonely,

As most people fear me,

Because of who I am.

Because I am Death.