Look at your precious creation

I've put pencil to paper so I didn't have to put rounds into heads. I've gone from a volcanic blast to a soothing stream. How quickly they seem to forget who made me.

They never saw the notebooks or the folder notes that held my hate and pain, Now they look at this calm and collected nuke they call their son.

From a young age I planned to do away with my own creator so I could achieve peace in that hell of a home. I pushed through the beatings and tears to become deaf to the pain and fear.

I tried to escape to the safety of academics but only found more of the same. The same scum just bite sized. I would have loved to swallow them whole.

Pain turned to fuel, hate turned to ink and this world was my target audience. Frustrated with everyone and everything I hid away in the comfort of my room. Dim light and a wealth of music to comfort me after school.


You let me fester in that hole for too long. You gave me too much ammo and too much to think about. Now I'm taking aim at this big blue and green target I see before me.

For 6 long years my kill count grew and keeps growing. I executed my forced beliefs. I executed your expectations.

 I pulled the trigger on my own weakness and created something much worse from the corpse. I took my own life with the knowledge of how to create a better one for myself.

Now you barely recognize your own son. I'm not the little bitch you turned me into. I have the ammunition you tried to keep from me all my life. Now it's time to make amends before father time drains your hour glass.

I've become the worse of what my world had to offer me. Now I can reflect it right back without fear or remorse.