Darkness,
the likes one can but imagine
in the farthest recesses of a convoluted mind
took up post behind me.
A hand on each shoulder
and a gentle tug, at first,
to stay a while longer.
I turned,
and to my eyes there was nothing,
a cool, black, benign silence.
But there, amongst the folds of tight dark fabric
stretching infinitely on and out,
there stood the bodies of the dead
shyly avoiding my eye, 
reaching,
with the delicate hand of a child,
to touch my back when I turned.
I had seen their faces,
and I longed for my own --
Oh, who I'd kill for a light.
I spun, and again, and felt a creeping shiver,
then ice.
I missed the comfort of not-knowing,
I hated the shadows for what they took,
what I could never get back
as I touched my chest and felt my heart and
felt nothing,
nothing
but a chill
and the touch
of the dead
and the dark.