Deaths son

You see him there, there he stands.
Eyes like spiders wondering strands.
Hair as dark as the sea itself.
Cloths from within the pits of hell.
Shoulders bent to hide his face.
Staring in a silent gaze.
Tilted head a crooked smile.
Whitened skin, your baby's child.
Darkened nails, lights worst dream.
Knuckles bloody,fingers bleed.
Darkened hallways, he calls home.
Keeps a box beneath his bed,
swearers the contents;wake the dead.
Whistles in a deathly tone.
Says black cats heal the soul.
Doesn't eat and never sleeps.
Says its the way it's meant to be.
Speaks a language no one knows.
Writes in bloody signaled code.
Never once has he laughed.
If you touch him, down you go.
Poison snakes are his friends.
When he walks the green grass dies.
When he smiles children cry.
When he punches, u regret.
When he talks you get a chill.
He talks to rocks and they talk back.
He looks at clocks and they freeze for him.
He stands as if hes made of tin.
No one knows how old he is.
Or if hes even human.
Except he never changes, in any way.
He stays the same, no matter what.
White as death, just like a ghost.