Angel of Death - or Death himself

The smell of death
invades your nose
The air, stenched
with rotten flesh,
pastes itself on
your tongue
The sound of whispering
tortured shrills of a
thousand souls creeps
into your ears
A terrying chill tugs
at your skin making
the hair at the
back of your neck
point in all directions
The sight of a
lifeless forest of hope
blinds your eyes...
...and you know
that HE is coming -
for you