Guns Will Kill You and Me

I’m scared because I know I may die from a gun shot wound.

If I do — so will you.

I see it happening all around me. The bullets flying by like a cluster of sweet metal sticking to the flesh with each explosion.

Victims unaware laying about with glazed expressions as their souls return to their creator.

They say we rest in peace after being brutality disrupted from the joy of living.

I say we leave with galvanized fury as a result of being torn apart by weapons of mass destruction.

We are an angry set of hungry monsters seeking the truth that lies in the nightmare of our dreams.

That never came true.

The ill walk around with aim. Good aim. Pointing the tip of their lodged envy at the popular sect as their followers worship them with righteous energy.

Beware the chaos of those sparkling clicks as your worth is recorded for the pleasure and displeasure of the clickers.

You don’t have to be loved to be blown to bits.

You just have to be American.

I’m frightened to death that I will meet my maker with bullet holes donning my shredded spirit and soul.

If I’m scared as shit — you should be too.

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