Fate
When we put our pens to paper to detail this tribulation
We are a Nation of poets and weepers
Sleepers who daydream through a voice blaring over the television
That this country has gone to hell
And all is well if we can find a way
To normalize the act of
Murder
Terrorism
Suicide
We know it’s our fault
But we would rather attribute an atrocity to bad coincidence
And not the environment we crafted by hand
To force feed our citizens
Of the USA
A land of willing prey
We are the children of mass media
Accepting our fate, we say
“Bad things happen that we can’t control”
Repeat that in your soul until you believe you have nothing to do with other people
Sometimes we believe we are brave
A permanent wave of pro-justice-fighters
Cigarette-lighters
Teenage rebels
“We will bring awareness to this cause”
By promoting ourselves
Onto history bookshelves
“I want to change the world”, or “I want to change my reputation”
Really, we want to be known
And what is the best way to become known
Than to draw out thoughts in fresh blood
The latest and greatest in gore and horror
Will become our inspiration
And our excuse
So we cry and we mourn even as we
Sharpen our pencils
Wondering what words can rhyme with death
If it couldn’t be avoided, we can justify our desensitization
So fate decided
“It was all meant to be”
And we go and make art
Out of a tragedy.