Cia

(This is a fictional poem) I committed murder and it bothers me everyday. I killed over twenty people when I was with the CIA. I was only doing my duty for my country but I still have their blood on my hands. I try to go on with my life but as each day passes, it gets harder to stand. The people who I killed were bad and perhaps they deserved what they got. But if you're wondering if I'm happy about what I did, I am not. The pain grew a little more when I took each life. The agony has consumed my very soul and it even drove away my wife. My marriage is ruined and my life is ruined as well. I did my duty for the USA and now I live in hell.