along the corridors

hunting students like the unapologies they are

fuck me sideways, what a beautiful sight

the fear in their eyes

my eyes on the prize --

everybody says guns are impersonal.

bombs are impersonal. you can't see the damage you're - i'm doing.

guns are personal.

i aim, my target, your brain matter, all the blood against the wall as they crumple to the ground

ringing gunshots that surround BANG

close my eyes and take them in -- my masterpiece

who's the loser now?

gotta get 'em all.

shooting practice is a trip down the hall

fumes of blood+fear excite me

a mad, mad old dog!

sorry now? or just sorry for death?

who you think you're fooling?

don't waste your fuckin breath.

my graduating class, no ceremony anymore.

not quite made it out the school's front door...


thirty one gone

ninety four left to go.


now they know.


one victim left.


tread away from the building

leaving red in the snow.