I have seen more blood spilled in our streets 

on the walls our homes 

outlining the curbs taking turns pouring into the sewage drain 

than in a battlefield where victory was none 

i have seen more blood splattered on desks 

and chalkboards colored like spilled paint 

and i have never heard their screams and i wish never to 

but the one who stands behind it is all 

its their own lullaby to put them to sleep

and even though it may not exist to our naked eyes 

its stained our window panes, droplets like scattered rain 

and they leave a stink over our nation 

you scream how can you take what is ours 

while mothers wail in their grief, their anger 

"how could they take what is ours"

while they stare at a stone belonging to a child, 

their child, who never made it past ten 

we've seen red

it places it should have never been 

and those who are taken 

their deaths being relayed to next of kin 

a life at your fingertips, doesn't it give you so much power?

that blood on your hands, your knees, and spat across your face

your stained like a porcelain doll,

your skin can't be replaced

there is a wildfire 

spreading from all coasts 

feeding off your desire of power and killing 

because a gun is what you need most