Reaper

Another short one.

The curl of the lips rippled syphilis’s thunder

The moon dripped red darkness like a warmonger

Heaven sanguine with stomach heaving bulimia

And the heavy miasma splattered daybreak

Like a wooden stake through a breastplate’s nightshade

And a mace vanquishing dancing eviscerating on the skin of the sinner

And the bruise oozes music’s soft sarcophagus of solitude

And the quiet voice of the void is calling me

And I forged my own blade and remade my sanity

So I could strike you down to the dirt without hesitation

And curse the rehearsal of devilish melodies

A melancholy verse, a burgundy person, amber with mechanical cannibalism

Macabre madness my dapper enraptured decapitated marionettes siloquette of sunset

Deathless decrepit with vixen’s decomposing hymnal monotone

Radiating glaciers on the face of my hatred, cold hearts in the freezer

Fresh blood for the reaper

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.