I got blamed for this incident on April 20, 1999, along with a colleague of mine. This was the poem I wrote more as a middle finger to the ones who insist on calling them gods.

I hold your judgement in my hands
that you sink further in the sands
in death that you would see in time,
that when in birth that you go to hell,
that you pray for your soul to keep,
blah, blah, blah, and all that shit
all you were is an existance on paper,
that I had sent you back to your cell,
that in time that you will all go to hell,
sinking deeper within midnight sands,
that I send you down and go to hell,
that all the words that you try to say,
to become the birth of your dismay,
that where you were born of worms,
all that you soul was was another germ,
your mind was dust, and nothingmore,
beneath a wave of pain, self-rightous f***
that in your sleep,  I piss on your grave,
as your body is now a slab of cold,
everyone thinks your god, Dylan Klebold,
where you are nothing but a slab of shit,
long been dead,  rest in hell -- f***er,
because of the sin you had done,
I had been the scapegoat of the crime,
where you had died before you did your time,
buring in hell for what you have done,
I pray that you will be the one burning,
everyone thinks you are some icon,
blah, blah, blah and all that shit,,
rotting in hell once more and in flames,
that no more I will become the blame,