The cold is razor sharp, but my knife cuts deeper still.
As sinews rip apart, my future bends anew.

They may call it crime, but who are they to judge?
It’s a fight to stay alive, and it’s worth a sacrifice.

As every light goes out, I whistle my way home
My spirit is resolved. This tragedy none will solve.

The next day in my flat, as I count my newfound wealth,
I laugh at all the prats dressed head to toe in black.

It fills my heart with glee when a summons finds my door
The court must find guilt of one oddly resembling me.

Those fools with the wigs run their mouths for days and nights,
Presenting “facts” and defendant's “rights” while common sense they lack.

For quite some time I sit content while no one dares suspect.
But mad disease starts to infect when I see how that poor man still pleads...

As trials drone on for weeks lacking release,
I feel myself slip into something like grief-

I’m weak at the seams whenever I sleep,
the ghosts of my victims haunt every dream.

When judgment is cast, I don’t make a sound,
all is rustling of paper and staring at ground.

“Confess,” breathes a demon, my soul harrows in fear.
But frozen I’m found
As the gavel
Comes
Down.