The murderer's death

Bruises and scrapes
across my head.
It's just now that
I've realized
I'm dead.
I remember that scream.
I remember that look.
I remember the blood
from the bullet he took.
No one knows I did it.
I just ran
and hid it.
I ran
and then
I tripped
And then my fingers slipped.
The blood began to drip.
My chest then
shot with pain.
That man killed died in
vain.
I slowly slipped
away
from that spot I
lay.
Everything was in a
haze.
Light slowly faded
away.
And no I'm not okay.
I've never been okay.
I now find myself in
Hell.
There is no more to
Tell.
There's only one thing
that I question.
Why is he in Hell
with me?
Oh tell me Satan
please.

This was the sequel to the poem Born to Hell AKA: The first poem on here. :)