OZ

I’m dancing with death, a carefully choreographed routine with the reaper. I know the steps all too well. He leads, as he always does. Then again, I always let him. I never understood why he chose me as a partner, but it’s starting to become clear. Other people avoid him like the plague, I always seek him out. Where others are scared, I am fearless. His reputation doesn’t intimidate me. With fascination behind my blurred eyes, I looked up to him. Yearned to be held by his cold embrace. And I leave, but I always come back to him. He’s hard to shake once he knows you’re interested, even in the slightest. My friends don’t know what I see in him. They know he’s no good for me, but I persist. Death seeks me out and finds me whenever my emotions detonate. He sings me to sleep, whispering promises of escape. He wants me to commit to him and I’m considering it. I almost went all the way with him before, why not now? The music stops, but his hands don’t let me go. He never forces himself on me, but there’s something sinister about the way he looks at me. He has his sights on my soul and I get the feeling that this time around, he’s not taking no for an answer.