Highschool

 
I stare 
at retreating backs, 
breath hot,  
rapid, 
rabid, 
vision tunneling 
on thin throats, 
on breakable skulls. 
Their self-aggrandizing  
by-way-of-breaking-others 
laughter 
the only sound matching 
my pounding  
pulse. 
They have heady 
steady rhythms 
calmly beating away 
their egocentric existences. 
I stare, 
breath hot, 
rapid, 
rabid, 
the absolute, 
incontrovertible, 
Truth
that their existence 
is a blight 
emblazoned  
in my mind. 
I would rid myself 
and every other 
crushed-beneath-their-heel  
pathetics 
of their calm, 
taunting 
laughter 
but 
I don't have a gun.



(Written for uniqueshaky's 'I don't have a gun' competition)