The Poetic Grim Reaper

THE POETIC GRIM REAPER When poetic lines are no more, than sharpened knives Where the words splice into, as destroying others lives Wrists cut; and then left to bleed, within a bloody bath But, where words still rhyme on having their last laugh He falls asleep never to awake, a bottle of pills in hand This poetic grim reaper hums a lullaby, he understands He is feeding off your lack of self worth, it's his payday Collecting the dollars; with every poor soul he can slay Your weakness has never been his problem, only yours Self esteem needed here, it is the only thing that cures Avoid, poetic snake like words, entering into your head Next he'll be sleeping besides you, whilst you lie in bed When morning comes you will find that all hope is gone And to the reality, some one else took your life to pawn And that he did this by luring you with his poetic words A innocent mind is not a blessing, but, a learning curve When one learns to do onto others as they do onto you Surviving writing poetic words such as I have had to do Indiana Shaw . . . "The truth" . . . : (