The Reapers Postman
there’s the stench of death on everyone’s breath, people literally killing themselves every time they open their mouths, they carry death upon their shoulders until they can’t walk no more and then they crawl to deaths door peering through the peephole to see if the reapers postman has delivered death perfectly packaged, the stages of death should be carefully managed, there’s death waiting for you at home, the kamikaze spenders have death on loan from the lenders who love to execute the non-payers with a pleasure akin to a grin, witnessing mass murder on a scale never witnessed before, and then the dead cue at deaths door hoping to reserve their place in hell, death doesn’t wish you well, it’s just waiting for you to be compromised, it’s a slow death if you survive
