I have a thousand words to write for you, I drafted all them out.
But now that I have seen them, I do not believe they are worthy of you.
You, who has touched the hearts of everyone at school.
I do not know you. But I write this for you.
I write this because they told me we were so alike.
A poet, and artist, if only I had come in time, we could've talked, could've learned. Maybe you could've even become the first friend in my isolated home. You are gone now, and so they grieve. But I cannot.
Dressed in black, you in white sheets. I wonder, does it hurt so much? The sickness, the evil, the cancer.
I know death. I'm not too afraid. I've seen my friend gunned down, and another try to jump. I'm not too afraid. But they are.
Why do I write for you? I do not know. But you were a poet, and so this is all I can give. I'm not good with my words, I'm not good with my grief. I guess I'm still shaken from seeing you wrapped in those sheets. Did you smile? They say that some of us will know, when our time has come, when we have to go.
To a Man, that I don't know.
A/N This is pretty bad quality, but the whole atmosphere of my school has dropped, and I feel some sort of sympathy that really just makes me feel worse. This is dedicated to not one individual, but multiples. Our school asked us, how does an individual affect a community? And vice versa? Here is my pathetic excuse for an answer.
YOU ARE READING
Thinking About Random Stuff
RandomI just want to write. It's a mess. I like writing. Poetry I guess, who really knows what monster I've created. Deep thoughts and sometimes me trolling myself. Fun.
