Those Things You Call A Poem

My burden to bear

With empty eyes, I bear the weight, 
Coffins numbered, burdened state. 
1, 2, 3, 4, the tally's cruel fate. 

Heavy, they press, dragging along, 
Staggering under their weight so strong. 
Slimy, disgusting, where I belong. 

Blood on my hands, tears in my eyes, 
Guilt in my heart, where darkness lies. 
Counting, adding, one more demise. 

This fault, I claim, wished for, I think, 
Hurt once, now gone, on the brink. 
Void and naught, my soul's link.