Beautiful.
Death looms like a bad habit; always coursing through your veins, eating away at your soul until there's nothing left but hate, bitterness and resentment for everyone around you, even those you used to love. It's like an addiction, a lover you want to quit so badly but you just can't. No matter how hard you try, she's always with you, always there to take and take until there's nothing left, and then take some more.
You used to think she was a goddess, perfect in every way. Her skin glowed like fresh sunlight, her eyes beating like newborn hearts. Her lips only spoke truth, and her actions only did right. She was the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. She was the Devil, too. She was everything good and everything bad you've ever known in your entire life. And the worst part? The worst part is that she's never going to leave you, no matter how much you beg.
If death had a name, it would be hers.
If death had a face, it would look like she does...
Beautiful.