I think I might be too tired
To be outraged.
I want to stand on my head and
Hands in front of the moon just
Clearing the horizon, and make
Myself into a peace-sign.

The only flag I wish to paste
Over my facebook profile picture
Is a huge, white one.
No more. Please.
Peace.
But all I can do is waste whispers

Underneath the raging roars of
Bloodthirst, revenge and hearts
Vocalizing the pain of their lost
Limbs.
Too tired to be angry.
Too dry to cry.

Victims. Aren't we all?
I draw November air
And exhale something like a
Prayer, as my loved ones walk to
And from work and school like
Potential bulls-eyes in the

Eyes of pure, ******* evil.
I'd cover a grenade
For any one of them. But for now
I stand against the rising moon
Like a capital "I", then
Put my dot of a heart

On the ground directly
Before me, looking
To the skies.
Furiously fatigued; a tired
Human exclamation
Mark.