The reaping

don’t look for me

you will not find me

she wears long sleeves now

to hide her crepey skin

trying to keep me a secret

but it does not work

because they remember me;

the landlord

the cops

the so called “friends”

the tricks

from back in the day

on the street corner

when she wore less clothes

the bustier

the mini skirt

the spike heels

the fish nets

when her skin was tight

so so was I

in full view

in INK

black with shades of red

the grim reaper

now faded

hidden under the stained cloth

it is near the end

I am at her mercy

am I forgotten

I wonder

as I unable to know

hoping to be the last thing she thinks about

as she looks out the foggy window

at a dogwood tree

in the distance

it is blurry

and so is she

fading

with the white blossoms

as they drop to the ground withered

atop the ash heap

where we belong