I don't have a gun (From Competition)

A neighborhood of
Squinted eyes and sagging necks
Hands alike cells,
Caging in what comes inside.

My antithesis.
My anatomy consists of
wrists of sloppiness and
Eyes alike telescopes

An allegation occurred.
Little did I know
I was capable.
Little could I tell
That I was doing it.

When it reaches my throat
The cages hanging off my arms
Reach a blade

As a tea whistle,
The screech immerses
I blurt--
"At least I don't have a gun"

Saliva splatters her face
Skinny, I am, yet it still inflicts, painfully.

At least
The minimal denominator I reached.
If a gun is the minimal denominator,
What have I reached?

But I subtract the two words
When I'm at my ultimate trial of admittance
When I sit behind thick wood,
Eyes caught on my victim,
I decide to look down at
My work shoes, received on my birthday
Given to me by the second most disappointed person.

Despite that,
My feelings don't synchronize with her.
Despite the horror and scarring I inflicted,
After asked, I say,

"I don't have a gun."