Poetry: The Victim’s Eye

The author has been an avid reader of the headlines in the recent months, and was a little quite unsettled to what the latest “Fad” has been centered on (author’s note: ‘a little’ was too underrated). The author dislikes the amount of attention that these reprobates received, and at one point the author feels the dislike borders on the edge of jealousy (Shocking!). Perhaps it is time the media shows lesser care on what these reprobates are doing, so that they may look upon themselves as a bunch of silly douche-bags, and reflect on what they had done (or shall be doing) with their lives.

Death is but an area that is either acceptable, or taboo, depending on how one views the topic. The author embraces the fact that Death will come for the author one fine day, when least expected. But so far, Death chose to distance itself away from the author (must be the unusually crazy amount of paperwork Death have to deal with when it finally comes to claim the author for all the deeds done: good or bad). But for now, the author just wants to talk about death, a term that seems hooked on to the current group of douche-bags and their penchant for doing things without a solid goal or reason; just talk; and talk big like an empty vessel they can. The author hopes to convey the feelings of the dead by this group, and with that, maybe from that perspective, a form of reflection to those who plan on joining this crazy group who have no goals, no future at all.

The author’s warning to these “thrill seekers”: Are you 101% certain HE would want any of these?

So here goes the author’s raw attempt at poetry:

The Victim’s eye

How it must have felt

To taste;

The cold steel of a barrel

Loaded and ready always.

At the slightest touch of a finger.

It moves.

Life changes; – both of us

“How dies it feel?” –

You’d ask yourself;

Won’t you take a good look

In all your glory;

The mirror at the back of your head.

– Is this Glory?

Or is this just your head…

The blood you dipped your hands in.

Let it stain your face. Lick it.

Do you like it?

Life changes; – Both of us.

Regrets be a thing of your past.

From the depths of the cold steel barrel;

Locked and loaded. Ready.

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