Red paint splashed all over the room, Smell of salt and metal, Funny how one could almost think blood has been spilled tonight in a calm household. A guy on all fours, Begging, crying- "Not my Son, not him He's still eighteen" And a grim lover at the counter, Starring at the mess on the kitchen floor Flesh, and more "Red paint" Boom! The once pale body, laid on the floor Gives not a single twitch His Ken-doll lips - blue, now tainted with wet streaks of Red, A young man hovers over the broken pieces of a marble statue, Stands and walks back, A snail leaving dark trails of revenge, Sense of smug pride strewn across the white face,…