Here it is...I've been looking for this all over the place since the shootings... I'm really, really outraged by how the media is handling this.. They seem to be saying, in my p.o.v. anyways, that all the psychopaths in the world are depressed teens in trenchcoats. This poem has always been one I've liked, and I think it's fitting here..Richard Cory, perfectly normal guy who everyone thinks is great... See... no trench coat... Not depressed... Not an outcast! Still ends up a psychopath in the end. Huzzah.
*HUGS*
RICHARD CORY

EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich -- yes, richer than a king,

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.