The Remover

I am afraid.
I fear death,
Not the nothingness
That was my nature
Throughout the eons
Before this very time.

I hold, rather, that
The knowledge Of 
Myself will be stolen 
By the Dark One
Who will remove my breath
And tear all my gathered 
Memories
Into grey slime containing
Only ruined nerves,
Rapidly unweaving.

I rage now
And gather fine words
And purported wisdom. 
A miser preparing for
The dark days when
The wind will try all
The windows,
And finally find
A way in
To chill my air.
The whiteness escapes
From my mouth.

I am losing
This breath of life.
It is passing from me
With each breast heaving.

My blood pumps desperately!
Can't you hear its thunder?

Help me. 
My hair loosens.
My teeth break.
My eyes harden in their holes.

Quick, before the world runs down.

Faster! 
Speak to my failing ears.

What are you telling me
About my existence
and its eternal purpose.

What? Repeat it!
You are dim
And far away.

Touch me.
Oh God!
Spell it out into my palm.

Quick! 
I can't feel you
any more. 
It is dark
And I am afraid.

Hold me.