My Intentions Were Good, But My Aim Was Better

This was a song (term used loosely) I wrote in ninth grade for a final project. Derrick and I played it in front of the class and it was pretty epic I think. The topic involved the media's views on violence, such a perfect topic for a rebellious young man like myself (ahem) to write about.

So I'm sitting on the couch
Newspapers spread out
Pictures were like everywhere
Blood, insecure

No bother to cover the peace
Now report on the stains
Empty skulls scattered

Purification, Holy Water
Violence holding up the stilts

Now, "the same people who
invented tragedy knew
that even with sacred circles
war never intrudes
We need to see a fight!" (Marche 38).

Vanishing point of fists and femurs
Broken skies and sky lines
The world a crumpled piece of paper
Silence on the left, War on the Right
Close in and drift tight
Own perspective

Similar Complaints

Shut the hell up old man
You don't know what the hell you're talking about
No matter your wish, this is not your world
It's now another generation's turn

Your peers had their chance
Now they've left the world in the hands
of forgotten votes and drunken leaders
The naive bottom boredom breathers

So here we are, offering another point
Nothing different than the goals of yours
The bandanna-colored wave of violence will settle when we're dead
Thank you God of Misery for your company

Save some for the fishes
Though it seems that it's just wishes
At least Florida will cooler underwater
Though conservatives will not bother

Signs of the end is near
Supported by the shaggy beard
of the forgotten man's endeavor
Unfortunate prescribed weather

So feel the pain
No different than
The problems and solutions
with excess ammunition

It's all the same

PSSA Free Time

To guard all those
Like we do our fantasies
To scour our hearts
like we do to our dreams
One step is our back flip
Too far gone is the friendship
To pay for love is a disgrace
Many cannot afford in the first place
As the lights reflect
and kinship reject
it seems we're alone
once again, without home
without soul

--

I feel her staring at me
Are her eyes capable of witnessing
such a sad dumb sight
with one thing left on his mind?
Can his hair hide every blank detail?
The features of a stone-blooded boy
Who might as well be deaf and blind
He won't listen to even himself
The destruction is countless
His mom wants him out less
She's sitting across the way
Still laughing and looking without a care
I can still feel her eyes as she
Still walks on by,
Her dress a victim to the wind.
Oh what will he say to me?
I meant nothing by his baby.
And then I'm not sure if
she meant anything to me.

--

The things I do after I finish the math portion :P