A Bullet Sounds The Same In Every Language Poem by Matthew Hyatt

To those who never leave me alone
To them my hatred will hone
Not to something as beautiful as rain
But something filled with pain

You crush me when i begin to feel nice
Because of you my throat i want to slice
I wish to no longer drink in the air
Of this world that never was fair.

Just because I look big and dumb
Doesn't mean my feelings are numb
Even though I rarely speak
The sound of my bullet is bleak.