Blood On My Hands Poem by Rachel Brewer

There is blood on my hands, and I don’t care.
I don’t care about any of the people I have killed.
I don’t even know their names.
I remember how I killed them all though.
All the same. My signature, our signature.
It’s very simple, anyone could do it,
But not many have the guts to go through with it.
All you have to do is pull a trigger.
I don’t see what the big deal is?
Most people think I’m crazy, and maybe they’re right.
And I’d take crazy over ignorant any day.
So I might have blood on my hands,
But at least I know what’s going on in this world.
And I’m proud to be fighting for it,
In this war,
And that feeling will wash away all of the blood, someday.