Hark the Reaper's whispers,

  For we'll meet after thirteen dinners,

  Let's hear their elated wailing,

  Such ecstatic sobbing,

  Ahhh how fantastic,

  I want to laid in a bed of thorns,

  O sorrow they had sown,

  Time for harvest when barely grown

  In moonlight stitched with silent screams,

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Dancing shadows mock my dreams.

  Crimson roses kiss my skin,

  Their petals weep the guilt within.

  Every promise carved in bone,

  Every heartbeat not my own.

  Let the banquet now commence,

  With silver knives and no pretense,

  Thirteen ghosts in silent prayer,

  Sip their grief from poisoned air.

  The clock ticks loud, a lullaby,

  To lull the soul that dared not die.

  So hark, sweet Reaper, take your bow,

  I am ready—bleed me now.

  How's you're feeling today?