Tell me to and I’ll be blue
under the brim of truthes
tell all that would be you
could not fit you to suit.
Come in scary tales leave to
the grave we keep the things
that we suture deep with all
that deep things me bring.
I’ll carry wise words whisper
the reaper he does of rivers
of fear that steam over rapids
and leave us in a pitch fever.
Scary tales will let me leap
up into words of that I keep
with me as I slip underneath
my fever and heat I’ll reap.
