bad poem scrap

I often feel lost
and how bitter words
stab worse then needles
because atleast with needles you see it coming
unlike sentances carved into bullets

with the one soul purpose to be aerodynamic
how it paints with our blood and uses walls as

canvases but never leaves a watermark to stain their work
instead tracking dna on some familes carpet these creations
were not from here but we made them we created the building blocks for murder
and called it sucide