Chatterbox: Inkwell

Yet another morbid(ish) poem of mine :D Thoughts, if you please: 

I fly through the night with the wind at my heels.

A dark, fallen angel.

I creep up to people unnoticed.

Or I sit with them and stroke their hand

Lingering, but not taking.

I breathe on their suffering faces.

My hoarse voice promising better things.

I am hated by all, save those I take.

And you hate me too.

You won’t dare to speak my name

At the bedside of one that, already, I hold to my breast.

For Fear that I will come faster.

Fear is my brother.

I myself, am Lady Death.