She is a Happy Person.

Death is a she.

With crystal eyes of paradise
and immaculate milky skin.
Halo of curls that fool the wise
for every breath of hers is sin.

Rosy scent and putrid thoughts
lips pulled back in a grin.
Her every doing, laced with triumph
as the devil always wins.

Pouted mouth and steady gaze
her mercy has long fled
Curling her finger
and beckoning your form?
Don't run:
you're already dead.