Sitting in the dark, alone
in this wooden shack no one's own
outside blows northern wind
I trapped myself in, I was blind

In this dark, dark night
my only hope is this candle light
I can sense her close
she's right there ; in the shadows

The walls are holed, my hearth frozed
in perfect silence she rosed
she sat by my side, warming me up

romantic date with the lady of the death
she is so beatifull, I want to join her
I blew my candle in a last breath


La lune haute, le vent de novembre glacial.
Au creux de mon abris sombre, une bougie
Elle m’est une protection triviale
Mais sans elle sur ma porte serait écrit ci-***

Lumière si douce en temps de noirceur
Ma bougie agonisant près de mon noir cœur
Mon âme tu l’avais réduite en haillon
Les murs de ce sombre abri sont ma prison

Mon cœur est givré par le souffle d’un titan
Je la sens. Là! Dans le noir elle m’attend
D’un geste de main ; je l’invite à ma table

Calme, elle me rejoint dans un silence d’or
Tête à tête aux chandelles avec la mort
Avant que par amour je souffle ma bougie
the second part is the same poem its just the original version which sound better in my opinion

Your shadow has fallen over this place
like the plague.
The chandeliers cower at your advent,
collapsing atop this innocent crowd;
yet the violins still play.

Your presence ensues consternation.
Who's next?
Who's time is it?

It is I from which your invitation has been sent.
I am elated you could make it.

My mask is you,
with rose patterns aligned,
a gown to match,
with a bone breaking corset.
From my painted lips,

Will you save me this dance?

Face to face, chest to chest,
force each breath from my lungs.
Twirling now to my sounds,
I follow your lead.
Dip me back into your arms, my sweet,
finally reaping me with a kiss.

*You are my only love.

The wink of the moon is a forgiving description,
The locks of your hair, brittle and worn,
Every tomb you forebear has a decaying inscription,
Your empty touch can drive even the most stoic to mourn.

Unconsidered by nature, but naturally torn,
The weight you must bear is never applied,
Vengeful at your mention, and your destruction they've sworn,
With the strength of cyanide, but your effects shall never subside.

You keep your fair distance,
Through your eyes you see no favorite,
Sickness plagues all at your mere insistence,
You're a people watcher, a natural behaviorist.

I can't avoid or dismiss you my love,
But Death, my fair maiden, there's not an hour you go undreamed of.

My heartstrings are broken and you're taking out your dagger,
To insert slowly and forcefully, for it is what I deserve, to feel deaths grips upon your blade ever so gently because it does not lie.
Your eyes, cold and joyful to see my demise, will be the last I see because is my heart that you yearn for.

It is not yours to take but you do not hear my cries.
If it passes my breastbone I will cease to exist.
I need to think quick, to defend against the inevitable.

I will not let you take what is not yours.

FIGHT!!!

Why is it the ones we love that we hurt the most?

Death is forevermore.

Empty Bottles align in the light, Reflect the shattered soul, Broken down to the last drop ****** the cork like the wolf harvests bone, The devil within busts through the held open door, Societies vessel of acceptance, ignorance in a swig and a sip ****** up the wall, I Doubt it’s worth the loss of yourself after all.

Dignity as fragile as the brown paper bag, Held around the chalice of your disgusted pride, Bottle after Bottle are you even allowed to call yourself alive, Hooked to the bottom of the glass, Any excuse even if the next ones your so-called last.

Friends and fortune faded, The bottles figure jaded in the light of your dim-witted realise, Nothing else to do but sit back and enjoy the ride

The Reaper sits across the bar, Sickle in hand pouring bottle after bottle never drifting very far, No strings to pull as the tender waits, Bottle like a shotgun, the mixer shakes, the distilled Deity waiting to deliver the last call.

Before the turn, No Misery or Shame, In the end, Is it really the bottle or the man who’s to blame.

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