Ghosts cannot not burden this young man's mind.
Broken from the womb, he is past such thoughts.
He killed defending himself. or so he said
And at seventeen he borrowed a gun.

Killing with your hands or a kitchen knife
Is old fashioned. To be strong now is to be well armed.
Crucifixion used to be an excellent deterrent,
Hanging there choking quietly in public
Unable to lift your ribs to breathe. Until the end.
To please the world, death is more efficient now.
A trigger pulled then a bullet spinning and slicing
Through entrails like the blade of a Stanley knife.
A quick easy death. The body bleeds out quickly.
And there are no instructions on the packaging
About the effects of bullets on the flesh.
You practice your aim in the gun shop, pointing
The gun at the ceiling under a salesman's careful gaze.

He's a man now. He's seventeen. There's hair
Around his balls but not yet on his chin.
It will grow quicker than the hair of the men he killed.
He must not to worry about the blood of men he killed.
His mother loves him and weeps like he does.
Tears fill buckets of despair and grief for the public eye.
She loves him like the man who sprang the seed into her womb.
He's her warrior now, worthy of respect,
Holding the tide against anarchy and chaos, a teen
Praised for using a Smith & Wesson M&P 15