These hands of mine
Are perfectly fine
Whether I am clapping
or snapping
They are perfectly benign
Even if they can't draw a straight line
as they cut their lifelines
They serve me well
when sending them all to *hell
Even though these hands of mine
Are perfectly fine
They tend to tremble
with excitement
Whenever something seems to resemble
Blood

my heart
will never be as heavy as the ones of the
children who are forced to learn the anatomy of a gun
in two seconds
flat. it doesn't matter if you believe in
god. god finds calm in
violence, god doesn't come
here, to the schools that are named after presidents and
townspeople who've done good
deeds, places
that were supposed to be
safe.

my heart
will never be as heavy as the ones of the
parents who sent their kids to
school in dresses and ironed
khakis and two little
pigtails and got them back in
body bags. there are no
flags here. no Purple Hearts
for the kids who couldn't wait long enough to find
god.

What's happening?
My feeling is keeling
over like a rooster
Losing my sanity
All feeling's vanity.

Where's the knife?
I want to survive.
I don't want to be trapped
in this stage of insecurity
I need to let loose,
like a goose.

Blood's all over the room.
This never-ending feeling
of satisfaction
what is it?
Is this
Life?
Death?
Happiness?
Sadness?
mAdne$s?
I've forgotten how to tell.
Do I need help?
Am i in vain?
In p@in?

I'm laughing.
I can't ** stop.
Is this humor?
Horror?
My third eye
has closed
my actions
are no longer futile
the heads
hanging from the ceiling fan
are you pr0ud of me?
Mom?
Why are you quivering?
Why are you running?
"WHAT DO YOU THINK
YOU'RE DOING?
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?"
That's what your lips are saying.
Why're you on the floor?
You're still breathing.
Are you sleeping?
C'mon, wake up.
cAN I pLay w!tH yOU, Too?