death is not a beauty
no matter how many beg and plead for symbols
peaceful for the receiver
but it takes and rips
rips your heart out and every organ in that body you call your own
rips out your vocal cords
dangles reminders on a fishing pole in front of you
that you will desperately chase
in hopes of bringing them back
you will look to the past
you will be full of regret hate sorrow rage heartbreak
with perhaps a heartbreak so deep
mister reaper will hold your hand himself