Habitual Murderer

Ripped down piece by piece
Old life crumbles in your hand
I feel deceased
No burn, no sickness
How surprising is okay
Don’t look at me
I am shamed
I wear my letter
You piont your finger
Never good enough
Never get up Weak like sand
And ask your tearing me down
The ache in my back
The burn in my legs
Your sight burns me I feel no more, it said
You only die once
Lies filthy lies