|
 Menu
|
|
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
|
Who's to blame?
Contributed by
stargazer
on
Sunday, 18th May 2003 @ 12:35:00 AM in AEST
Topic:
Lifepoems
|
"I'll take the upstairs,
you take the down.
We'll meet in the cafeteria,
around two."
The boy said that wore a baggy sweatshirt
and had spiked hair.
His friend nodded,
obvious anger and fright
shinning in his big brown eyes.
He knew this was the only way...
the way things had to be done.
There was no other choice.
This couldn't be helped.
Where were his parent's
when he needed them the most?
What is a house,
if there is no love to show?
The guns were never locked up
and the internet was a wonderful invention.
He saw a councelor once...
this friend.
He was an old man, who wore a pretty sweater.
What did he know about being an "outcast"
and being depressed?
He probably went home to a cute white house,
with a wife, two kids, and a dog.
Who was he to say that the boy had a problem?
"Don't worry... there is nothing wrong.
One day you will find the perfect someone.
God has plans for you my boy."
He laughed crudely...
the words hurt more than anything else.
It was all a lie..
it always was.
No one ever listened to him,
and no one ever cared.
He slowly walked the halls,
gripping the gun under his shirt tighter.
The bell rang, and kids poured into the halls.
The gun went off...
one shot right after another.
The boy got scared and ran to the cafeteria,
where his friend was waiting.
There was percipitation running down his face,
and a smile on his lips.
His friend had never seen him happier,
he was a killer.
They both were.
"Did you do it? Did you take them out?"
He asked.
The boy with big brown eyes,
who saw a councelor nodded.
"Yeah I did it."
He replied, hatred in his voice.
"They aren't innocent in this matter."
The boy said and turned around at the sound of sirens.
The police were coming,
they had to run.
They made a dash for the stairs,
taking two at a time.
They locked themselves in an upstairs classroom,
hearing the screaming
and crying from the next room over.
What had they done?
How many had they killed?
Tomorrow they would be on the news.
"We're not the killers. They are.
They never cared, they never let us in...
they are the ones that made us go mad."
The boy with big brown eyes,
watching as the boy raised the gun to his head
and shot.
Tears streamed down his face,
as he said a quick prayer.
And then took his own.
That night the boy with big brown eyes...
his parent's got the word.
They were both angry and hurt...
mad and discouraged.
Where had they gone wrong?
His mother sat down on his bed
and read the note lying before her.
-I'm sorry Mom,
for not being the best.
I'm sorry for being a disgrace.
I'm sorry that you didn't believe me
and even sorry that I am going to ruin your lives.
But you ruined mine.
Now to dad...
you never cared.
And probably still don't.
I know I am an outcast,
a little different from the rest.
But Timmy cared,
he understood.
I hope you do too.
Do not blame yourself,
blame everyone.
Everyone who never accpeted us...
who never cared.-
Love, John
John's mother cried even harder...
tears streaming down her cheeks.
She was a killer...
she helped in the death
of her very...
own...
son.
What had she done?
Copyright ©
stargazer
... [
2003-05-18 00:35:00]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: Who's to blame?
(User Rating: 1 )
by Jilli_bean on
Sunday, 18th May 2003 @ 07:02:47 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
| amy ..you know i always have and always will admire your poetry....this just proves your @ your peak..Can ...they tell..its like r u sure yourparents even care...type thingy...well you know..great job ...~Jilli-Bean~ |
|
|
|
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
