I hit a man for making fun of me because I don't like being mocked.
But he died when he fell down because he hit his head on a rock.
I considered running because I was afraid that people would think it was intentional instead of an accident.
I was right because when I confessed to the Police, prison was where I was sent.
I rotted in the Joint for ten miserable years.
Nobody trusts me anymore, that much is clear.
His death was an accident, I didn't mean to kill him.
I swear that I'll never strike another person again.
(This is a fictional poem)