This poem is dedicated to the memory of Adarian Ross, aka little snooge who was shot and killed over an argument instigated from playing video games. Now, X box marks the spot to a grave stone on a funeral plot where a mother buries her baby boy in a wooden box. Life is not a game. Don't treat it like a console. You cannot console someone who had no controller or control over when the gunman pulled the right trigger in the right place. At the wrong time, it's the latest tray bond with Les Pres because it was black on black crime. He was a burveic and prog artist. Known to pick and juggle rhymes from where he set the exact attack. That bullet says it out of his back. No, we can't get you back. The only way is the hood is drawn to the wrap. What do you think they call it? The trap. I'm just stating the facts. How do you call their projects? If it's not a work in progress, that's nonsense. It's crap. The penitentiary is the pen in rappers write bars because the system is crap. Treat your black boys like animals, but act surprised when they adapt. Now, watch the evidence. The facts. Get the slain by eight. Stolen gun. How could this be? We're left as Y and X-conn. They can't act that as to a fire. What is the truth? It's the child she helped in her arms for your right to bear arms in the world. This is a talented young rapper with no rhyme or reason. But this is no isolated instance. The grim reaper is grinning at the South Side of Chicago because the death toll looks like Afghanistan without TV coverage or a word touching new stands. We have grown numb and accustomed to this violence. Let's break the silence. Go to the NRA nailed 95 feces in the front office. Guns don't stop crime. They cause it. The two girls from my high school, Jill DeForgignatec are not tragic losses. There is no tragedy. And the destruction of a masterpiece when you make it this easy to acquire the tools to erase them. They would have graduated in 2011. But their parents learned the unfortunate lesson in the college credits don't transfer to heaven. You and me, you and me, you and me, are not meant to see or claim death. It proofs that in the eyes of a returning soldier with post-traumatic stress, little snoop took two shots to the chest before his lungs sang the sad song of his last breath. But how can we just race ourselves and ask whose next song instead of reevaluating gun licenses in background checks because the casual casualty of an 18-year-old artist is not something I can accept will nothing change until it happens to their own flesh. How many innocent sons and daughters must be slaughtered and played martyr before America can see farther than the barrel of a gun?