mass killings

Edgar Allan Poe what a fucked up yet beautiful man
and just like him, i write about the demons in my head
the silence in a room can be deadly
he understood that too.

blood soaks my cushion filled chair
my wet converse squeak against the floor
no one noticing that i am here
no one wondering where i came from

the dead skin under my fingernails
the smell of raw flesh on me
the blood-stained white jeans
why can't no one see me?

i watch people type away
hear their voices as they speak
i promise to make them see
i promise to make them believe
i promise to make them bleed
just like me

"POW POW" the shots goes off like a firecracker
one down and five more to go
screams fill my ears
finally, they notice that we're here

my converse slide on the bloody floor
i take the blade from my bag
i sit on top of an innocent man
watch the horror on his face as the knife goes in
i feel the skin-pop from my blade
they will pay today

they will remember my name
and when the news release who i am
it will say " society struck again"