The Reaper has a Thing for Greasers

he sits in the shed next to the propane heater

pulls out a cig, lights it so cooly

that the angel of death swoons slightly at the sight

he's got nothing to loose 

now that he's hairline fractured a few hearts

to try and compensate for the shattered one 

barely pumping in his chest

so he takes in a deep draw

and holds it in his lungs

as though to turn death on

as though to tell his body he's had enough pain

caused by others

as though to tell himself that it is only 

he who can hurt him now

so he blows a ring of smoke to the reaper

and smiles

because he may be flirting with the death,

but he'll never kiss her on the mouth






dedicated to Benji Shell

Kirsten

and it kills me that I've lived through more deaths than birthdays