You told me you loved me
with honey dripping from your lips
and blood fell from my fingertips
as I ran back to you
guilt in my face
when they asked me why I stayed
I thought your flickering eyes
meant change
but all I got were bruises
behind my pumping veins
and a type of love
that was never meant to be real.
I only found broken lightbulbs
behind my dimming pupils
and aching bones
holding myself up.
Every day was a mistake,
bending backwards just to say
draining prayers for something more
and hoping God
would walk through the door
and save me.
It was all a lie,
feebly accepting that maybe
I was going to die unhappy
and alone
with someone who said they loved me
but only knew love as
****** knuckles
and never ending pain.

Toronto became my home
It is full of streets that we can roam
Multicultural, safety, two of the plenty words that are associated with this city
But now, it was change to "******"
When I moved here, violence was rare
but things got worst every year
Devastating crimes always happen on the weekend,
The question is when will it end?
Rather, will it ever end?

My loneliness is killing me
And like Britney sang; I still believe
But I lose my mind when I’m with you
And think clearly without you
But I’m not waiting for a sign
Because I still have bruises from when you hit me... baby one more time

There are shots in the distance.
Teachers push their students
to the nearest exit.

Crying and afraid
one girl runs
all the way
into the woods,
while another
calls her mother.

Reporter asks if
she was surprised
that this happened.

The teenager
is barely able to speak
without trembling,
but manages to reply
that she figured
it was about time.

This has become
so normalized,
that we have
shooter drills.

Hallways become warzones.
Ceramic tiles are stained
with barely teenage bodies,
shell shocked students,
walking disasters
disassembled
and stranded in the middle
of American nightmare
that we can’t wake up from.

Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.

What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.

What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.

Shooting across the screen.

The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.

Sitting all day staring out the window.

Mother in hospice.

A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.

It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.

The after school sessions of comfort sped up.

Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.

Teacher student affair.

15 year old student found with 42 year old man.

When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.

Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.

Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.


Where's the specialty training for those who care.

The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.

The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.

Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.

The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.

Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.

Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.

The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.

Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.

The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones

Darkness filled with malice,
Malice of killing intent;
The courage to slaughter
From anger it starts to foster

Hatred, it cries for blood
Anguish, an abominable voice
The art of death, he pondered
Will be a lovely gift to gather

Slowly, my child, slowly
Take your time, take it easy
****** isn't something to rush
Or you'll take away its lush

[The pleasure of torture;
The art of death]