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All Dogs go to HeavenA starving dog, in a neglected cell.
The world forgot you, welcome to hell.
Whimpering softly, no strength in your bones.
You cower when you hear their mocking tones.
The memories are fading, the times of joy.
A little puppy and his favorite boy.
The summers were long, the backyard where you played.
The boy grew up fast, and you were betrayed.
It happened so quick, there was no time to question.
Thrown out like trash, a subject to human aggression.
You kept your head up, but hope withered away,
Close those hollow eyes, every dog has it's day.
420Ten years ago today,
11:10 am, Tuesday.
23 wounded, 15 dead.
Hallways smeared in crimson red.
No one would forget the sounds.
Bullets ricocheted as they made their rounds.
A birth of a tragedy beyond comprehension,
no one foresaw the building tension.
11:17 proved to bring no disaster,
they needed to come up with a new plan faster.
Walking toward the scene of the crime,
a massacre to unveil at any time.
11:19; "Go! Go! Go!"
Run in fear of the duo.
at any cost avoid the bloodshed,
thinking quick to fall down and play dead.
911 at 11:25,
students struggling to stay alive.
four minutes ten seconds after,
no one could remember the sound of laughter.
"Peek-a-boo" Harris teased,
shot his gun as time freezed.
Recoil from the gun broke his nose,
"Do you believe in God?" as the story goes.
The thrill of the hunt soon lost it's charm,
debated using a knife instead of a firearm.
suicide ended their rampage at 12:08,
one of the worst school shootings known to date.
If dead could talk, what would t
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More