death personified
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Thus the Reaper picked up his tools,
He took to his hands the metals forged in blood,
He reached for the scythe with anger and wrath,
According to his oath he upheld his mantle.
Looking towards the foggy moors,
Dear All,
I am everything and I am nothing.
A creeping shadow in the black, abyss-like corners of life.
To gaze upon my cloaked, physical form,
That of which was comprised from a stereotype and guesswork,
