I break everything I touch. I’m a disease everyone is afraid of touching. I’m the speck to be wiped off. I’m nothing- and so I live.
Like I know that living is the punishment I must endure. Like someone who committed a murder. Handed themselves over and confessed.
Because that pain of being alive and feeling that way reminds me that I’m serving my time- rightfully so. A “vile creature”.
One day I’ll die. In keeping with my sentence- I hope it’s not peaceful sleep, old and grey surrounded by loved ones.
It should rather be a brutal death. With my blood spilt upon the earth as if to give me over for the crimes I’ve committed. Death penalty.