Him Poem by Far Lapenna

I don't have skeletal features
Or any type of black robe
I only wear one in the winter
When it is quiet and it is cold
I don't have a selective staff
Yet they say I have followers
I don't tear souls in half
Yet I am named the Grim Reaper
I can be in many a place
All around the world at once
I watch people die and I collect their Souls
After pulling idiotic stunts
I don't understand humans
But I don't have time to speculate
Because I'm always kept busy
And I have dead hearts to contemplate
How did this one die I wonder
Through poison, or some plant?
Or did they die in Africa
With some knife or some dart?
Oh I know, It's one of them skateboarders
The ones that get themselves killed
There is some blood down the side of their head
And with that their heart was stilled
Oh No, I'm getting mixed up
He's a mechanic I see from that spanner
Clutched in the confines of his pocket
You see it as a terrible me thing, I don't know the matter
They amaze me these humans
In their variety of dying
Some commit suicide, some of old age
Even one from crying
It astonishes me by how they do it
Without even meaning
They do it accidentally or
Just to cut off their breathing
It shocks me by how vile it is
Out there in the war
Their limbs get blown off
Or they get murdered by the shore
They say their doing it
To save their own country
But secretly they whisper
They do it for thrill or for bounty
Yet if that was not enough
They also imagine monsters
Slithering, hissing and snarling
And they become the dreamer stalkers
They live under the bed and in their head
When I am everywhere
I am almighty but they insist listening
To that rubbish called the monsters lair
I would complain if I had a body
But I'm only a whisper and a thought
If only I could complain! But what would I gain?
When humans believe in rot?
Time is nothing to me
For I am ever unchanged
Yet for humans time is hell
They just want it to be chained