I Know Who Killed MeI know who killed me. I saw them do it. I saw the gun pointed at my head, the familiar face, the instant regret in his eyes. I felt the bullet pierce the side of my head, felt my blood oozing down my neck. I saw the floor rapidly growing closer, realizing that I was falling. I saw the man, running towards the door, hoping for a quick escape. I saw my vision go black, I was unable to see. And I felt myself die, like a light switch being switched off, like clicking the TV remote to another channel. I felt it, I saw it, and I knew it.I know who killed me, and I felt my life slip away in a second.
Grow Up.Sarcasm. Cuts through my mind, shredding every thought to pieces. Lies. Hides truth and justice behind a quick escape to freedom, leading me into a false sense of security. Judgement. Catagorizing innocent souls, putting them together in ways they do not deserve. They go hand-in-hand, not living without one another. Not standing alone, not surviving alone, separated they are nothing. Why. Won't. Those. Bitches. Grow. Up?
BarrierI want to scream in your face. I want to make you cry. I want to make you feel the pain. The pain that I feel. Nothing seems to work. I wish I could see your face. But what difference does it make? It is like a rock; cold, dead, unfeeling, unchanging. I want to take you to the end of the world and show you how I feel so that you would understand. And when you'd finally understand, then we could feel the pain together. We could cry together. But that will never happen. You are dead, trapped in an eternal sleep. And I am alive, prisoner, behind the barrier of life and death.