Why? (Poem #4)

[Robbieava]

Every day I wake up in a world that is so vile.
This makes me sick. You make me sick.
How could you stoop so low to gain your own plesure.
You're not okay. You need some help.
You walk the streets like everyone else can.
Your secrets show. You cannot hide them.
You're lucky I'm not god, cause judge you I always will.
You have sinned. And you will pay.
For my life is better or I would be a vigilante to destroy all of you.
You are in luck. Though luck runs dry.

For you are sick. You're not okay. No repent can save your sick soul.

[tracefleeman]