The Poor Man Poem by Kriztan Rei Palces

His eyes are cursed they say
for he's seen no light even at day
he's blinded by his own negativity
which introduced him to bipolarity

he walked the slums with grease as clothe
and a butterfly knife for the ones he loathe
for every kill he tears sludge
and every tear's offered to grudge

and when he tried to banish the hate
he's fallen in too deep, it was too late
now he sees the light at the brink of his death
the poor man smiles as he sighed his last breath.