The blade swings and cuts, it falters not,
For when the blade is swung, a soul is cut.
It is handled firm and questions not,
The hand in which its edge will rot.
The master is still and with gentle care,
He strips the mind and leaves body bare.
Of want and suffering, hope and loss,
Even those who believe in the anguish of the cross.
Footsteps he leaves to forever mark his way,
Pooled with the tears of those filled with dismay.
Look there, he's been here, this is his doing,
Another weary soul he is pursuing.
For master and blade they are one and the same.
In each soul they mark a blood-etched name.
Reaper, the ****** fear his coming and flee.
Lock your doors and abandon the key...
People are fascinated by the dark stuff.
In the case of my writing, that can mislead, because my light-natured writings are more potent.
Why leave a piece of writing (or anything for that matter) shivering as if a demon just licked your soul?
I suppose the aftereffects (relaxation effect) is nice, but people use drugs for the same reason.
Both will erode your innocence and chip away at your sanity.
Is the cost worth the high?
... The reaper likes such reckless vanity,
Giving you time enough to say goodbye...