Various Poems

9. The Reaper

Being the Reaper isn't fun, if you'll meet me you would run
I'm just an angel of death that welcomes you to the depths of the abyss
Ask the ghouls, we're best friends
Ask the fools, they never care less
Compensating, that's where I excel
Death is never an obsession, it's a living
Making merits, avoiding demerits, fuck that normal living, start being hermits.

Skulls dangling, heads hanging, blood dripping
Lustrous glow, dancing skeletons for show
Pumpkins in Christmas Eve, mistletoes in the Halloween siege
Wiping my scythe until my hands bleed, though I never knew how it feels like
Washing my dark, antedulivian robes, just like Karen's mind
Using virgin's blood detergent and a chunk of a slut's ass bar soap
They say what you reap is what you sow...

While I collect spoiled souls, a myriad of crows follow the trail like a parade of hoes
Eating the remains, like vultures in the southern cyclones
Chromatic lightnings and ersatz gold storms
Being the Reaper isn't fun, it's like welcoming you but with a gun
Bowing to Hades, affair of Persephone
Never better, never had a loyal lover
Always versatile, sailing the seas of souls that are longer than the river of Nile.

The hustler of the grim psyches, lived a life with demons and savages
Being the Reaper isn't fun, you need to do better to be a part of the clan
Invasion of privacy and demon-like autopsies is not a great bedtime story
For someone who lives a life blindly
Innocence is different from ignorance
Look deep between the lines with scrutiny
Even my weaving confidante knows how to spot foul play.

Being the Reaper isn't fun, not a single glimpse of the light of the sun
Want some fun, have a screaming match with the banshees
I'm the guru of sins and error of tragedies
A guide scroll full of heinous rondelles
Kamikaze clowns and ancestral dolls
Slinky stabs and unkinked mouths
Nonchalant massacres by paramount mass murderers.

Being the Reaper isn't fun, it's a mental pure adrenaline war nobody has won
Nicotine for cocktails, sane maniacs, and swarms of maggots and floating eyes
Angelic faces hidden with demonic motives
Take a hint or grab my noose
Chastened a swoon of psychopaths in an arsonous disco
All I want is a descent funeral, know my birthright and an agile clarity of my bygone memories
People say I'm a queer or non-binary, but I'm just a whimsical nudnick.

Being the Reaper isn't fun, deadly alive is another terrible pun
I fell in love with an elated wench, life surrounded with conjectures
Their statements are a wrenched converse
My out of the ordinary demeanor is kindred to a incredibly vile caretaker
A fragment of the liberal scope is all I ever hope for
My daily dosage of the antidote is compelled with a forked tongue
Even through that, I'm the safeguard that will be forever fealty to Hades.