It

I'm screaming my silent screams.
You can't hear it, no;
But if you look closer, you can see,
The vines on my throat turning black, turning sharp,
Slowly carving out my veins, digging into my skin,
Scratching off my voice with Its bloodied tendrils;

And sometimes, you'll see my eyes wide and shining with unshed tears,
As I tried fending off Its mighty hold, slowly unraveling Its choking restraints;
And then, just as the vines loosens, I shout out my exclaims of joy,
My defense weakens, and It chokes me again.

Every time It strikes back, It becomes stronger;
And I am no longer strong enough keep to fighting It alone,
Thus I lay here, silently screaming, slowly dying,
Waiting for the sure scythe to release me from my pain.