Reaper

Reaper

A Poem by Triston Taylor

My anger is a blossoming rose. Well, a decaying one. No sweet scent. Tied to deaths robe. Slaying the souls who have run out. I'm the reaper of happiness, call me life. Emotions exploding along my jagged sythe. Anger decaying with souls I'm destroying. Happiness crumbling under my radiation of depression. F**k your smile, it's do or die. Not happy or cheer. This is not as perfect as you seem. No scheme as smooth as you believe. Everything has a consequence. For instance, it takes one thing to get my punishment. A life of encoding, bleeding feelings. I don't need no crew, just some clothes and matching shoes. I enjoy tormenting the unforgiving. The decaying, playing tools. Tools of society. Wanna be monarchy. No accepted center for ignorance. Don't plea to me, don't cry, just pay your fea. Let my rusted hatred piece your vulgar heart. Let the pain flood your veins. Let the emotions melt your soul. Embrace life's lively cold. Grow still with my heart. Slouch through life, crumble along this dark path. Do the math, a day in hell is a milisecond in life. Imagine eternity as you meet my scythe. I'll always be here. No drug pushes me off. No excape is reality. I'm the reaper, my name is insanity.

Run, hide, your soul whimpers for you. Millions of souls have drowned to my power. Granted this gift from the creator. What I touch crumbles to dust. Joy for this a underestimate. It's more a lust, a rush, adrenaline pumps my blood. My heart cold and dead so I show others the life. It's engraved against my scythe. Last thing you read upon death. "A soul dark is a heart dead. A heart dead is a lonely life." Teeth shatter as I split your cranium at the center. Lips tear apart while mouthing the engraving. Vocal cord severing as you reach for a scream. Shush, be silent. No need to show others your torment. I'm the one who closes your door to life. The one who shows you the knife. Give your heart nothing as I take everything. Falling deeper into my cell. Welcome to your hell. I'll lock you away in your own mind until you call for reliefe. To you call for poetry along the scythe. I'm the reaper of your future, your dreams. I am the reaper, I am along your side, I am insanity.
"Reaper" by: Triston Taylor

© 2015 Triston Taylor


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Added on September 5, 2015
Last Updated on October 15, 2015

Author

Triston Taylor
Triston Taylor

Oshkosh, WI



About
I'm 17 and I want to take the talent I have further, I want more people to review my poetry and help me take it farther. more..

Writing