D'Angelo Lino

Rookie (Panama City, Panama)

Seung-Hui Cho - Poem by D'Angelo Lino

Too young for strength,
their words crushed my tender confidence,
its obvious, my soul is dying slowly,
speaking only to those, that truly know me,
meaning I speak no more,
taunting of my foreign accent, has left me sore,
their wealth, and beauty, is the core of their existence,
dismissing anything unlike them,
so my heightened intelligence,
and the glasses that rest against,
my nose, makes me irrelevant,
and unworthy of their presence,
and their ficticious comradery,
but this no longer bothers me,
see I exist in my head, beyond their comprehension,
no longer can I differentiate between what is sane, and what is crazy,
because nobody tried to save me,
instead they slowly slayed me,
isolated from the nature of human love…
I expose glimpses of who I am, through violent literature,
making them uncomfortable, I’m sure,
while her passes on my advances,
make me even more manic…
I gain solace in trailing her from a distance,
studying her when she is unaware, oblivious to my undying interest,

But this can go on no longer,
thoughts of ending beautiful lives in the eyes of America, leaves me far from somber,
soon they will become the victims, and the pain of my life will be conquered,
with this Glock 19, and this Walther, I plan to alter…
their plans for their future, and end it with them laying at an altar,
and I won’t falter,
for once I’m seeing so clear,
for years I was denied, and crucified by all my peers,
so with these here magazines, “All the shit you’ve given me…
I’m given back, with hollow points, ”
to hoist your soul, out of your joints,
I embarked on my mission, shots fired at Johnston Hall,
I unloaded on two students, then went back to my room for ammunition, to finish the rest off,
and mail a package to the news, contents of what was going to ensue,
telling them of my bruised existence, and the lives they were going to lose,
Norris Hall would be my last act, thirty more would get their lives snatched,
sweet revenge, unarmed, so now their mouths can’t fight back,
jocks only speak in fear now, pretty ladies pleading until their last breath,
shooting holes in students, through the aisles as I take steps,
and when all the blood is spilled, and I felt the job was done,
I put the gun up to my temple, and I fired the last one.



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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Poem Edited: Thursday, February 21, 2008

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