Just the word itself is so enticing.
On my lips,
I play with the way it sounds.
So sexy.
"Death."
And you would think it would send shivers,
Down my spine.
Instead,
It pushes blood through my being.
Straight to my chest,
To my cheeks.
A blush.
A brush with death.
Has my heart beating.
Death,
Oh death.
God I wish I wasn't breathing.
Just for a second.
So I could embrace the warmth momentarily.
That comes with death.
Maybe I'm a little dead already.
But does it make me morbid?
That I'm attracted to death?
That when the Reaper comes,
I'll ask him to be my first dance.
I'll ask him to lead the steps.
Like the first dance,
The first steps.
A wedding with death.
Sounds lovely.
At the alter I'll ask the Reaper.
If he'll become my keeper.
He'll say yes,
And my chest will explode.
He'll lean in to seal the deal and wait,
In hopes that I'll accept his will.
I do.
I do accept.
Yes oh yes,
Oh Reaper I do accept!
Go ahead and give me,
The kiss of death.
YOU ARE READING
She.
PoetryPoetry, scenes and short stories written from the fingertips of a girl who doesn't know her own heart. She's filled each corner with love and light that she thought was pure just to watch it rot off and fill like a gaping dark hole. But these heartb...
