In my head,
all I can hear is screaming.
It's the screams of her.
It's her classmates.
It's the screams of people being shot.
It's my classmates.
It's my teacher.
It's my teacher screaming to sacrifice themself for us.
It's screaming.
It's the scream of bullets hitting the glass.
It's the bullets hitting the walls.
It's my screaming.
It's all screaming
And the worst part is
I can't tell whose scream is who's anymore.
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 12:14 AM UTC
In my head,
all I can hear is screaming.
It's the screams of her.
It's her classmates.
It's the screams of people being shot.
It's my classmates.
It's my teacher.
It's my teacher screaming to sacrifice themself for us.
It's screaming.
It's the scream of bullets hitting the glass.
It's the bullets hitting the walls.
It's my screaming.
It's all screaming
And the worst part is
I can't tell whose scream is who's anymore.
A poem about gun ptsd