Shots

He counts the shots as he fires –
One, two, three, no one is safe.
His father’s gun feels right in his hands,
Even as they tremble and they chafe.

Here lies the bully, who made him scream
Everyday as he walked down the hall,
Tortured him to his very soul,
And made sure no help would ever come.

One for the teacher, who’d pick on him,
Two for the girls, who laughed at him,
Three for the ones he once called friends,
Whose friendship led him to such an end.

He counted the shots as he fired –
His tremulous thoughts went haywire.
He forgot the list he had made before,
He couldn’t keep track anymore.

They blamed the music he listened to,
They blamed the various video games,
But no one mentioned his inner troubles,
That gave rise to all the hate.

This was no longer a school prank,
He watched, gleeful, as so many hearts sank.
His own, he did not keep in check.
He fired, right and left, kept no track of the wreck.

The rampage continues,
Don’t panic yet – this was just a preview!
What you don’t know might just shock you –
His mother, at home, lies in a pool of red hue.

One, two, three, we reach another dimension;
He wants to end the pain; killing is just an extension;
Whatever you do, condemn him for his action –
He just hopes he finally has your attention.

Written for all the high school shootings / massacres I have read about and which broke my heart. For some reason, the pain was more palpable when I wrote from the shooter’s point of view. This is by no means an apology!

Advertisements