Murder Enmasse
What
is
wrong
with
us?
I
cry.
My
tears
of
blood
and
mercy
for
the
lost
and
confused,
the
dead
and
the
unliving.
They
break down
in their
minds
and
their brains
with
their
torn hearts
and
splattered, splintered
lives disconnected
and
unfelt,
strangled
in
their sickness of sorrow
and
numb
to the
violence
and
suffering
they
reek on
the ones
who
fall
in
their
madness,
bloodred
path.
It begins
as just
a day
like
any other
day.
maybe
sunny,
maybe
not
maybe
cold,
maybe
not
maybe
morning,
maybe
not
maybe
night,
maybe
not
maybe
at
work,
maybe
at
worship
maybe
sitting
at
a
desk
in
a
too
small
chair
learning
french
or
engineering
studying
the
bible
or
esl.
And then a strange face, a weapon released and that crack, fissure and fracture in the peace or stillness of that
last,
good,
safe
and
innocent
moment
before the world as once known to her pretty face or his marvelous smile is erased, eradicated forever.
While
all
of
us
die
just
a
bit,
fall
just
a
bit
piece
by
peace
toward
our
collective
sorrow
of
and
for
both
the
murdered
and
the
guilty.
So
deep
we
dig,
should
we
not
to
mine
what
so
sadly
has
happened
to
us
that
such
crimes
are
our
standard
fare
in
this,
the barbarian
carnival
of
our
times.
