16. THE GRIM REAPER The demeanor of a psychopath,
A stone cold heart that doesn’t beat,
It’s like a beast thirsty for blood,
With carcasses lined up on either side of the wall,
Fresh blood still dripping off them,
Staining the clear wooden floor,
You can call him a spawn of Satan,
He’s unbothered by whatever you have to say to him anyway.
Vindictive and armed,
He lurks the streets when the night is at its darkest,
Hoping to run into a bystander,
A victim whom he can jam his blade into,
Amputate and leave them bloody,
He laughs cockily as they beg him for mercy,
He’s from a different dimension altogether,
A lonely place where not many people have been to,
A place familiar only to the devil.
He’s sold his soul,
Often trespassing into an unknown realm,
A dark and cold world
