Death
I flogged myself to death
More harsh or worse
Than street stepped on Crystal Meth
An unsightly unholy mess
With a furrowed blank face
No resemblance to the human race
A basket case
You would cross a pot holed street to avoid
For fear eye contact would engage
The hollow of no tomorrow
Shell's burrow inside
Because they walk dead
Wake dead
Sleep is their only grace
Everything else is broken
And nothing can them back together again
Not even friend nor family
Nor self
For some poor soul's
Death is the last semblance of Health
The lost will only ever know
But not in this life
Sadly
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