he sits and waits in the back of the class
so soon they will bust in to take him away
with bloody fingers and a gun in his hands
the blood that is smeared all over, his words
and a gun, with an itchy trigger finger ready to blow
all the blood will stain, cannot be washed
its all ugly and scattered
eveyone around lays on the floor....shattered
its more than just stains, its the blood from his brain, the blood frm his veins/
and now he sits and he waits, for the storm to come
but all of the rain can wash away the blood
all of the pain, liquid, caused by the fun
the blood runs down, and onto the ground
now burned in his eyes, its on the walls and the halls.
these surfaces are his steaks on which he paints
barbeque sauce on walls in waves, just to reduce the pain
as it all drips down forming pictures from his mind
many little expressions strewn out in a line
now the room is filled with pain
the pain of his and the people he has slain
now there he sits, with an empty gun, dripping with blood
then he ditches the weapon, cleans up and runs.
before the authoriies get there to stop his later fun....
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