This man was not born to kill; he was made that way. He didn't understand everything life had to offer.
He was deprived of a life worth living, yet he was strong enough to survive.
If only he was fortunate enough to be dealt another hand, but I guess someone had to end up with his deck of cards.
He only learned how to play the game he was taught. Luck had nothing to do with it.
He played through the pain, misfortune, and misery, but there was nothing for him to win.
He never knew a life with riches. He only knew how to steal.
He never knew that parents could take care of their children. He knew about neglect and abandonment.
He didn't know a way out of the hell he was put into. How could he learn to better himself without a teacher?
A criminal, a murderer, a liar, a thief. Because his tattoos wouldn't let him be hired.
You fight to survive in the world he grew up in. Fortunate people wouldn't understand.
The game of life picked it's favorites, and ended up creating a murderous man.
YOU ARE READING
Pile the Dead
Poetry"Pile the Dead" is a collection of dark poems. Each poem is either about mental illness, murder, suicide, drug use, etc. Consider yourself warned. Please, let me know what you think. I would love to hear any constructive criticism. ********** Good R...
