Being a psychopath must be hard
Okay no remorse
for chipping a body to bits
but no sadness
no happy
no joy
well unless that was your last victims name
Only love when someone is thrashing you at tennis
Hate to say it but none of that either
No passion to comp
Surely hunger is felt
No fear t-shirts aplenty
Can they feel heat even just their feet
No pride or humility
No want to knead
No sense of worth
No hop to hope
The nothing felt
from slap to belt
Never alone
even when they are
No wonder no awe
Today the same as tomorrow
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