top of page


What color does a killer see

when he takes his black barrel on a spree?

Red splatters? Or just brown bodies,

as they stumble before they fall?


Can he see the white opening of the sky?

Does he notice the souls as they rise

witnessing their physical forms die —

stunned by their killer’s gall.


Perhaps a wrathful killer can only see green

But can he hear the echo beyond his machine;

The harmonies of his victim’s screams;

Or the muffled cries in bathroom stalls?


What goes through an active killer’s mind

When his written intentions are clearly defined

As an attack on all of humankind

Like red writings on the wall?


I guess I’ll never know what a killer sees.

Whether it’s colors or mourning families.

But the thought has just occurred to me

That maybe killers don’t see at all.

Ⓒ Rae Scott 2022 All Rights Reserved


Meet The Poet

bottom of page