Poetry: Sick

I'm staring at the wall,
Make it burnt a hole,
A big hole.
Seeing the hole,
People start whispering,
They start gossiping,
They start assuming,
They start making conclusion,
I'm sick.
Sick of people talking,
Sick of all this noise,
Sick of the perfection.
I want to be fault,
I want to be guilt,
I want to be haunt,
To be the one,
That can kill them all.