Eric Harris

Mmm, ripping, writhing,
"I want to tear a throat out with my own teeth
like a pop-can"

a why-wont-you-stop-can.

I need some firearms,
to defend my self against natural selection,
your inhumane complexion.

Stop looking at me,
I don't want shit like "oh he's my son, though"
Fuck-ups don't resonate with me
Grotty illegibles gone, I’m thorough.

You can climb your helter skelter
retard-shelter,
the status quo of why I’m a welter.

I need an animalistic tear in society
to flaunt my sorority
of worthless authority

upon you.
I'm a bloody eyed martyr,
a revolution starter,
the subsequent distress
of the now and thereafter

from completion till bombing
under-achiever thronging
if you're inadequate
"be gone"-ing.

What's America left youth to believe in
but sex
and becoming a heathen,
a broken-life talk-show burden
"REPENT" when nothing's for certain.

if "it’s all relative to the observer"
was I a killer, or a free-will preserver?

maybe if the world wasn't so "ob-fucking-sessed"
it would have already realised it’s fucking next.




*words written in "-" are taken from Eric Harris' journal, no copy-write infringement intended.