hearing shots go off
echoing towards me
tarmac giving way
running knee deep
but diligently following
the blood smears
passing the dead
finding the culprit
pulling the trigger
emptying the magazine
seeing his skull
a splitting splashing
watermelon abstraction
wounded, awaiting help
thinking
this is what i do
killing the killers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem