Death and 17 in Poetry

As I fall asleep
Confusing dreams and reality
As the number 17
Consumes me
And destroys
What I used to be

I touched her jet-black hair
Her beryl fathomless eyes
Absorb into mine
As I forget time
Tranquillity overrides my mind
Ceasing my thoughts
And I no longer
Decay and rot

I don’t know how to be
When I can no longer
See her in my dreams
I fade away
From the Sun
Soaking in the stars and Moon
And all the things
My shadows provide
Until I’m wrapped in a fog
Unable to see
The death in front of me