Bullets are strange things.
A little lumped of shaped hard metal
Lying quietly, harmless
In the palm of my hand.
Once in motion, who can stop it?
IÕm no superman.
Once, twice, three timesÑ
The sound like the end of the World
Lung, shoulder, arm
Unaturally occuring structures
Now reside within my flesh.
The pain is odd, distant.
they got me.
I feel something explode in my hands
A demon of my own
Triumphantly shrieks away
My attacker falls, and I am mildly startled
I am quietly astonished as he dies at my feet.
Little demon, what have you done?
"The Devil controls the demons, " the whisper in my ear.
"So whoÕs really done the doing?"
This pain is not so distant.
Suddenly, all is gone.
My eyes open to the world,
I sit up and stretch my knotted limbs
Rubbing grains of sleep
From my bleary eyes.
Time for school again.
OK, for all of you people who just finished that pome and are thinking, "What was
THAT?!" I just want to let you know that I am NOT going to shoot people, nor have I in
the past! This poem is actually about a dream I had about three weeks agoÑI seem to
have a lot fo dreams about dying. Not pleasant, really! O_o;. I think itÕs stress induced
(Yah, yÕknow how youÕre sÕposed to wake up BEFORE you hit bottom? HAH!).
Anyway, yah. I PROMISE I am niether suicidal OR homocidal! :-D Hey, if any of you
readers are into dream interperetation, drop me a line! IÕd love to know what you make
of some of the WEIRD things my brain comes up with!