Mountains of Death

On this blistering day of the summer solstice,
I write in my journal again,
Dying, as if Death was blowing me a kiss
In the desert with a ball and chain,
On a search for the mountains of Death.

No one has survived,
I plan to be the first,
I have lived off the thrive,
I have lived off the thirst,
The thirst of blood, for the mountains of Death.

Instead of sandstorms in the distance,
I see something oddly new,
Loosing my reason for existence,
Mountains black and blue,
The glorious mountains of Death.

I follow the trail for travelers exclusively,
As the normal World got cut off,
I saw bodies hanging, and thought conclusively,
That there is no coming back, and the poison made me cough,
Poison swept the air, as I fell to the ground and became in a different place.

I woke up and shook the Reaper’s hand,
As if he were a God,
Or a Legendary Guru.

He looked somewhat confused,
I was not shaking, nor crying,
I was laughing and smiling.

I asked him question after question,
But the real question was,
Why was I still alive?

He went for his ax,
I went for my journal.

Hi I am The Reaper,
There is nothing to be scared of here,
Just don’t look for me.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

-Epilogue-
Day three, after Vermillion almost went between both Worlds,
Vermillion my friend, your writing is horrid. >X-D