Literature
For the Right Reason
Would anyone care if I died?
Would anyone mourn my passing?
Would anyone miss me?
Would I be remembered for the right reasons?
I ponder these as the blood seeps out,
the cuts still fresh and the blade stained red.
So much agony was trapped within,
and now it pours out of my scars.
None believe that my turmoil exists,
many claim that I'm a liar and fiend.
The lies I've told are what they tell me to say,
and the truths I speak are unheard.
Few ever see the good in me,
many see the broken man I've become.
Do the few that accept me
outweigh the hundreds that spite me?
A chain wrapped around my neck,
and a foot over the percipiece.
I only need