A Killer to His Victim

I'm sorry if you are in pain,
But it's needed for my brain.
You see, I'm clinically insane;
It keeps my life from being mundane.

I'm sure the lawyers will understand,
When they see your lifeless hand,
That my mind's held by a strand;
They'll be nice to me up on the stand.

I'll likely only get probation
Because I live in this great nation,
And my perfect explanation
Is my mental desolation.

As a child I was oft mistreated,
My grammar skills were quite depleted,
And that is the reason why I got beated,
For my brain was never quite completed.

The drugs didn't help, they pushed the decay;
They led my poor little mind astray.
And that is why I'm this today:
But half a man, a shade of gray.

I can't be responsible for what I do
To police or to dogs or to cats or to you,
And though a fiasco may shortly ensue,
It's my life, not me, that carried it through.

You see the gun pointed at your head?
It is not my hand, but my brain's instead,
And, very shortly, when you find yourself dead,
Remember: it was just my brain and some lead.

You may feel a shock as the bullet goes through,
But it won't hurt a bit if you're insane too,
So hurry and split my dementia in two,
I'd be perfectly happy to share it with you.

I regret to inform you that now you must die;
I wish you a happy and solemn goodbye.
Remember never to ask why:
It's just life; it's always awry.