My dear poetic friends,
I can no longer bear to lie, there's something I must tell you: I fear I'm going to die.
The other day I got real bored, so down my street I roamed. I ran into a man dressed sharply in black, whose sockets were dark and hollow.
I looked a bit closer at him, to see that his face was a skull. While gasping in shock I took a step back, and he gave me a smirk that was... dull.
He grasped my wrist and held on tight, then shoved his face inches from mine. He clacked his jaw in a robotic way, then whispered 'Its nearly your time'.
The reaper delieved his message quite clear, it seems death is coming for me. This here is my formal funeral invitaions for you.  
I hope you can make it, Vi