(Not mine!)
I stared at the reaper
His jet black eyes
I wasn't afraid
He asked me why.
I said 'I've lived in hell
For years at a time
Although I'm not afraid,
I'm not ready to die.
But he was welcome
To chill with me a while.
A said 'it must get lonely.
He gave me a smile.
I saw him shed a tear
As he put down his scythe
And rested his lonesome
Weary head on mine.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryA collection of short pieces of writing/poems that I've written through the years and decided to publish. WARNING: MAY CONTAIN BRIEF/DIRECT MENTIONS OF SUICIDE OR ADDICTIONS
