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