I am the writer of Death,
cataloging souls he consumes till there's naught left..
I am writing your story,
for your end is drawing near..
Selfish and entitled,
a taker,
you've harmed many over the years..
Your fate sealed,
much like the many caskets you've left in your wake..
Death will come for you,
you will rot for days in soiled linen before anyone knows your fate..
None shall mourn your passing,
nary a dime spent on investigating your demise..
You will have a paupers burial surrounded by those
you betrayed and left alone to die..
- C. Pantoja
YOU ARE READING
Creepy Poems
Horror1st. Book in my "Creepy Poems" series. I hope you enjoy it ☠ I do read all comments, and appreciate knowing which ones are your favorites
