What Is Sick?
A Brief Poem on Gun Violence and Mental Illness
Was the world this sick when we were young?
Did it contract something vile during one of its many turns,
or has the illness of hate kept us company from the beginning?
Now we sit, playing that game of blame that no one seems to ever win.
We ask if it is the scent of gunpowder that maddens us,
Or maybe the bite of the metal.
Is it our nightmares that conjure these deeds,
Or the pain of waking.
Does it truly matter what we are holding
If the source of the chaos sleeps behind our ribs?
We are the children of the bruised and the beaten,
some of us created our wounds while others inherited theirs.
Regardless, we are all brothers and sisters of suffering,
discovering new ways to cope,
Or new ways to destroy.
I wonder if listening ears were as cheap as bullets
If we would still wonder what it is that's sick.
About the Creator
Autumn Rain
Just a 22 year old Psychology major with a passion for writing! Proud nerd and craft lover.
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