He came into the school.

Running his fingers across the trigger.

Thoughts zooming through the beautiful yet disturbed mind.

Head held high but self-esteem dropped below zero, smile so damaged.

Awkward shape in the pocket of his jacket but no one has noticed the shape of a gun.

These students don’t know that this will be the day they die.

 

He thinks the world so ugly, will be better if we die.

Always have been at the top of the class, bullies constantly wanted to beat his ass causing him to hate school.

He’s told me he’d just shoot himself, but then what’s the fun of the gun?

His mother a druggie and his criminal father always had him triggered.

No therapy or pill could ever cure this amount of damage.

Violent thoughts and actions were always with him, but what he has done blows my mind.

 

He was in my art class and always seemed to mind.

His drawing always showed the people he thought should die.

His supplies were so neat and clean while others had with theirs so much damage.

I’ve known him since elementary school.

I will never forget the ear piercing screams, similar to the ones on the playground back in elementary once he pulled the trigger.

Who knew such joyous laughter could come from such a deeply depressed kid holding gun.

 

The miserable custodian who spent so many years scrubbing rumors from bathroom stalls was one of the first ones to be hit with the gun.

Misfits didn’t worry, life already meant nothing to them, what’s a bullet to the head, they wouldn’t mind.

The lonely librarian who saw books as her only friends, had her friendship soon broken by the pull of a trigger.

The girl starved of calories but not attention will no longer have the world revolve around her existence. She shrieks and cries “I don’t want to die!”

At least the soon to retire teacher who has taught and encouraged so many died at the place he loved which was school.

The witnesses just sit and soak in the damage.

 

The artificial florescent lights shatter, leaving lungs damaged.

He shot everyone a crooked smile before he shot the gun.

Screams, cries, and sirens fill the school.

The number of lives he has taken doesn’t even cross his mind.

All he thinks is die, die, die.

His powerful finger constantly hugs the trigger.

 

He makes the decision to turn the gun on himself and pull the trigger.

Some peoples’ lives are beyond our understanding of damaged.

Never experienced the feeling of love and never knew how to express it. All he ever thought is that others should die.

Prescription after prescription was given to cure the hate, but he chose a gun.

Society blames young fools and their diseased minds.

Breaking news, “Another seventeen year old has shot and killed eighteen of the small town school.”

 

Parents burry their children sad and angry that they were the ones to die by the simple pull of a trigger.

“What kind of kid in the right mind would chose to take the lives of so many with that gun?”

The killer’s father rots away in prison unaware of the damage his bastard child has done and his wasted mother sobs uncontrollably while on the phone with the police and school.