He calls himself The Reaver
to anyone that asks,
gleaning twisted pleasure
from all his dirty tasks.
They say he wears a black cloak
and holds a scythe of death,
i've felt him at my shoulder,
the warm stink of his breath.
I've heard him in the twilight,
whispering his lies,
taunting me and nagging
at the weakened me inside.
He says that he will take me,
regardless of my will
but just for now i'm running,
and  living off the thrill.