Holding hands with the Friendly Reaper.
I feel it, the grip, the warmth, the care.
It cares, he cares, she cares.
Sickening shiny scythe.
That cares cuts.
So I keep on pretending,
That the warmth is warm.
That the metal is gentle.
That the grip is comforting.
Hiding my face from myself.
Averting my eyes from that panicked stare.
That terror, that glances at the joined hands and back at me.
I embrace the reaper and his scythe.
Cut and reshape me. Just don't let me go.
Make the face in the mirror go away.
I'd help him if I could but I can't so just get rid of him.
Hold me close I need you to cut me and care for me.