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Alex

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

10 poems·Since November 2012
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The Reaper

May 3, 2013
Alone in her room The tears are finally drying From a long, painful night Of agony and crying She's tired of life All the hate and the lying Surely death is better Than this slow, painful dying. She turns to the doorway And sees a figure in the hall Under his pitch black hood She sees a bleached white skull He sees the girl's pain And gently he calls "Don't fight the tears, girl Just let them fall." He tells her that he holds An escape from the cries She listens intently She believes his every lie She's captivated by his voice Looking into his black, soulless eyes "Let Death be your doctor, girl I'll cure you of life."
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