The Man I Pity

Was born good, turned mad by the city. I want to scream but it's too much to even breathe. I met a girl, I thought she liked me, what a fool I might be. Two years, most likely, since someone spoke to me nicely. I was a man, a paradox I have become, I can neither stand nor can I run. I have a wish, a dream; a dream to be done, a death wish precisely, has sprung in my hollow heart. no more left to say, except that I use to envy me, now I pity- what I have become.