Miss Reaper II
Miss Reaper III
shaking from the drug still
dancing,
The glimmering pink of broken glass
through her veins.
The Coffin is on the nightstand,
its weight not on her now.
But with every step he takes,
its chains wrap more around.
Fine and cold
and clinging,
Bringing back the heaviness
of lives gone by.
and binds her hair,
so that it seems
she can control,
one little thing.
Her party dress is purple,
the color of her lies.
And all the people present,
comment on her eyes.
To her everyone has blue ones,
But hers are a cutting,
shattered hue.
They look as though,
they already know,
what all there is to you.
A flower growing on the wall,
not whispering with the vine.
Just standing there,
as still as stone,
watching yours and mine.
the one that carries all her pasts.
Miss Reaper.
He smiled at her,
then said he liked her bag.
She growled,
thought he was only teasing.
When they first kissed,
She was a man,
face halo darkened,
and breasts bound tight.
(So hard to breathe.)
But she grinned and scowled,
deepened her voice.
He laughed and smiled.
Two boys kissing in the dry leaf smell.
The swings still groaning,
and the water hissing low.
