Hey, Mr. Reaper,
With your cloak so long,
Your face so hidden,
And your scythe so sharp,
You're heart's not so black
As you make it out to be,
You're not so tough
'Cause it's kind you've been to me.
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
That's not your real name,
And I know how I've broken
All the rules to your game,
But you don't have to play it,
At least, not around me,
Because I understand it,
How the sharpest life you lead.
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
I may not look like much,
Like a silly little princess
Wearing sparkles, bows, and such
But I hide the battle scars
With the satin, silks, and lace,
Like you hide your open wounds
With the hood over your face.
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
You aren't damned to die,
Your life isn't over,
You just have to see the light;
I found it long ago,
And I'll share it, if I can;
You just have to take it,
You just have to hold my hand.
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
Take a quick look back,
To a day you've forgotten,
To a day in our past;
I know I never told you
Why I call you my best friend,
That day you could've killed me,
I was hanging by a thread.
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
Bet the guilt hurts bad
When you start to remember
How I looked so sad;
You spoke of betrayal,
And you let me see a text,
You said, "To that Scarecrow
You're the girl he's hurting next."
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
I know it was a lie,
But what you weren't expecting,
Was that I would want to die;
Your reckless act of vengeance
Smashed my worn and tired heart,
All because you hate him
You tried to trick me from the start.
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
When you read that note,
Did your heart race a little?
Did it make you choke?
Death was in my eyes
As I turned and walked away,
And you knew I wasn't kidding,
I'd have killed myself that day.
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
Guess I won't know why
You read that little note,
And you changed your mind;
You called up Mr. Scarecrow,
And you warned him of my plight,
And he called me moments later
Just as I raised my knife.
Hey, Mr. Reaper,
Thinking that's my proof
That you're a no-good monster
Who should get thrown off a roof,
But I will never think that,
Because I still understand,
No matter what your penance,
You will always be my friend.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Confusion
PoesíaDiana Miller is schizophrenic...or at least she thinks so. She has never been clinically diagnosed because her father believes that mental illness is demon possession, and she knows he would never take her to a psychiatrist. To cope with her inner c...
