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