I am a
No good
No-one
and you can't
Tell me
Otherwise.

In the end
I've found
All that really
Matters
Is who you were to them,
A year before you died.

Because I put a bullet where I should have put a helmet,
Along with Honesty and Sincerity,
And all their friends and Virtues.

Rebirth is easy, it's living that gets tricky.

Reborn as a sinner:
Love me,
Hate what I do
Best.

What I do best
Is watch you fall to pieces
Limb from crushed bone limb,
And what I do best
Is write sad songs
That I hide away in a corner of my
Closet(ed mind).

When you die,
They remember you with flaws they had of their own.
They make it about them,
And their pain,
As though being a martyr
Could actually bring you back.

(As though a martyr
Could actually come back)

So call me Apathy,
That'll be my new name.
A lack of empathy
No pitying sympathy.

Because I cannot seem to make you realize,
I do not empathize
Nor will I ever sympathize
With you no-good
Nice guys.

I'm a bad guy
What can I say,
I'm the villain, the antagonist,
I was put here as a test--

I went wrong,
I went far beyond wrong,
I took a wrong turn onto the wrong path in the wrong forest
Where I just don't belong.

So goodbye for the night, and maybe the next few,
But remember my number not name, as only the living seem to do.
So just remember these words, from time to time:
I am a lack of the holy seven--
You see, in place and in honor, I make nine.