Sociopath

People are dying but you do not care.
They are just numbers with eyes that now stare.
Some call it harrowing while others say cruel.
Its all a disaster over which there’s no rule.
With bodies in the gutters and stains on the street.
Those that you see might soon be dead meat.
Sorry to say but the truth is what’s left.
I could lie to your face but it wouldn’t be best.

Now face the reality…

Sociopath,
Where do you rate on the graph?
Hands of blood,
Stained like varnished wood

Sociopath,
Where do you rate on this graph?
Hands of red blood,
Stained just like varnished wood.

Screams fill the air and chokes off the breeze.
None of what is said here comes with ease.
For these were once lives that have been cut short.
Like some kind of sick type of blood sport.
And none of the whispers contain apologies.
All that is spoken about is that some won’t freeze.
Not that such ramblings bring any joy.
That emotion has been sent the way of coy.

Now face the reality…

Sociopath,
Where do you rate on the graph?
Hands of blood,
Stained like varnished wood.

Sociopath,
Where do you rate on this graph?
Hands of red blood,
Stained just like varnished wood..

Gasps from the homes of the few that remain.
Many had wished this some kind of game.
But truth is much crueller than fiction can be.
Happy ending tales don’t exist really.
For what rests here are the graves of the lost.
This death toll will never have been worth the cost.
But time flows only one way and we cannot go back.
What few of us are still breathing did not deserve that.