As the crimson fluid leaves,
It slows and darkens,
Before long it is stale and black,
Losing its trademark crimson color,
The formerly crimson fluid remains the same though,
A potent carrier of life,
Able to bring back those near death,
But the reaper demands a fair trade,
To bring one back from the brink,
The owner must know what the reapers embrace feels like,
Soon after the world becomes cold,
Becoming blurrier and darker with every microsecond,
A feeling of uneasiness enveloping them,
Then nothing,
Only only silent emptiness is experienced,
Before being returned back to the world of the living,
That crimson fluid flowing within us brings life to others,
While drawing in the reaper to exact a fair exchange