Was He Worthy of a Poem?

I have seen the brains of a stranger

Blown into a knotty pine wall

In a quaint country cottage

Tucked neatly into the middle of nowhere.

I've stood alone in a room

Counting the buckshot

Tracing the illusion 

With unseeing eyes

I've felt the death of a dream

The fear of retaliation...

A life out of control

Must be stopped

But by who's hand?

I'm the one

Who can't shake the pictures

Can't forget the smell

Tracing the pattern

Over & over again

Natasha Head