Poetry

Gunshots

In slow motion
I feel the weight
Of cool metal in my palms;

Breathless, I pass through double doors
Surrounded by all the chatter, and joy
That I cannot feel;

A deathly smile
Lines my skeletal face
As I lift the gun to shoot;

I long to pull back the trigger
Feel the recoil of a gunshot,
The echo of a bang;

They told me I couldn't do it,
Dared me, taunted me --
What kind of friends are mine?

And I see the fear in their eyes
Knowing they were the cause --
Do you doubt me now?

But I falter,
I don't want to shoot her,
What do I do?

My classmates are screaming
Lunch platters fall and clatter
I don't want to succumb to the monster in me;

The gun is snatched from my hands
I don't feel a thing but emptiness
As they pull me away;

I couldn't do it

.~*~.

I do not, I repeat, I DO NOT feel the way this poem describes. It is a fantastically morbid poem originally written for an English project; I attempted to portray the possible mindset of a murderer to be. It's disturbing and semi-graphic, perhaps, but isn't the idea of poetry to create emotion? Dated April 18th, 2005.