The spectre of the gun

A gun in my hand so powerful I feel
But an empty shell of a person inside
I am lower than even the smallest lifeform
with my baser instincts so amplified

There is no hunting like that of a man
a concept that people don't understand
This eternal bloodlust is very beguiling
to kill without any fear of reprimand

What did I gain by taking those lives?
to dwell upon would be very futile
Ashamed I am of my very existence
therefore the living I make sterile

What should I do as penance?
What punishment would be appropriate?
But how can one punish a dead man
For I died when I began to hate!

The End

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