It’s over isn’t it

they dont know im the midas of rust everything i touch turns to dust but i have something midas lacks, eyes to see through window cracks, ears to hear the floorboards creek, legs to move me from my keep, and head enough to know im beat, when everything before me screams, please do not come near me, im a walking example, a fairytale you tell, im the moral of your story, and I’m go to hell, or maybe im already there, forced to live each day in prayer, a sinner in the hands of an angry god, what hell could you construct for me, worse than what ive made for free, if death were not so frowned upon, i know for so that id be gone, and if the gods of greek seek to punish me, i wish to see the end of every tragedy, and feel with all finality, the end of my reality