i sit there staring at the gun, knife and the strap
deciphering rap and twisting the lines about gats
the knife drenched in blood is beginning to rust
lying untouched on my desk i rid it of crust
living's enough, i continue to do what god's do
dipping my knife in you, creating cherry fondue's
fuck the law too, creation by man demolishes all
i scribble names of victims all over my walls
never calling it off, although im forever deadly
these stories must always have their own clever endings
so i invent a heading, 'man stabbed seven times in the chest'
clearly, we know that black and white are the best
then i begin with the story of the innocent civilians
strolling through bliss, he was on his guilt trip
waiting to kill kids out of his own furious rage
a monkey that just became trapped in a cage
obscure to the great, i'm sneaking from the corner
being the reporter, i tried to speak as an informant
now i'm finally getting to the end of this story
it's going to get a bit gory...just giving u a warning
next i cut into his fucking intestines slowly
last nights dinner pouring onto his own feet
i see the acidic fluid coming out his rib cages
burning a hole above the one i just created
i gauge his eyes out the handle of the weapon
forcing a confession, making a lasting impression
hurling my feet over his shoulder blades again
steel tipped boots to the head til they're painted red
consumed by his brain and then i hit him in the back
not being affected until my fists had some brass
i start writing the closing paragraph now though
enjoying as i watch him tye dye the city drains
a bit of a twisted fate, i stand and simply say
"it's over now son, society has deemd u harmless
i didn't stab you, just struggling for content
i didn't kill you, the line at the bottom is
i didn't kill you, i'm just a struggling columnist"

here's your fucking story.