Story A poem about Stan and Jean

[HannahB]

Reapers

Death comes for some,
as a sickness
disguised as a choice.
As their inner sanctums
crumble to blackness,
their dreams
morph into pain.
The world turns away
and the reapers close in.
Swinging and gnashing
they tear down your stones.
Their words pierce
like a sword
into the depths of your heart.
Tearing away pieces
from their soul
to sew a blanket.
Ripping away their bones
for your bed.
Their pain canceling
your unworthiness.
and in that second
you live.