Have you met my Reaper: a poem







I don’t have a guardian angel

I own a Reaper hollowed out and filled with gray-noise

The gray-noise I grew like white blood cells 

It poisoned my body with blackberry juice

So I traded it for honeydew melon taste

Having my Reaper suck on the blackberry pits compounded in their molars 

Leaking into the enamel, honoring my hatred from 

Tears unshed


My Reaper’s pinky finger, knotted with a white thread with mine

Grasping on tight

Because I can forgive but not forget

Though my Reaper can forget but not forgive

That’s why I don’t have an angel

When there is a part of me

A promise with mouth watering cravings

Not meant for unstained eyes


I choose the Reaper as they choose me 

In between us

Scythe, the baton, conducting the noise.





Location: United States

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