You sit there and smile
while you tell a story
that is cruel and painful.
You sit there and smile
while you answer questions about
why you did it and how.
You sit there and smile
while I hold in my hands
the picture of my child.
A child that is gone
not with the wind,
but with bullets you shot
from your illegal gun
with your brutal hands
and your insane mind.
I sit there and cry
helplessly lost
trying to understand
the reason for your existence.
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