an abandoned house,
with chronicles of deaths painted on the walls,
in the shadows of it's doom,the reaper lurks,
watches over with eyes of death,
waiting for the omnipresent,
to whisper a name,
and he shall devour the soul

everything the reaper touches,
transcends from space and time,
to spaces between space,
he has never loved a flower,
never held a newborn,
never cried,never laughed

and now he is slowly dying
of all the lives he has taken
the reaper is dying out of life,
and I cannot say
whether it is painful
or wonderful
but it's sad.
it should be.