Rock, Paper, Friends and Killers

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Well when I was 12 I use to spend all my time writing and my friends would get mad at me because I would Per say ditch them. So they stop hanging with me and talked about me, then they took it to far and ripped of my papers which in truth were devoted to them, I never told them... this is how I felt then and how I feel now

Submitted: June 14, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 14, 2010




Sorry I’m going to

Keep it down about

My silent murder-

Flat Hands and The murders

Rock paper scissors

In the heart

Paper in the soul

Knees praying at the alter

Let them understand

Heads and hands put on the ground,

Sunday and Monday falls into Tuesday

Coffins with shredded remains

Title the heart

Join in the games

He who cast the last...

Rock, paper, and pencils

Change with death of

Black eyes on the clean white skull

Sullied and scythe in my heart

Black words in black ink

White paper

Sad and streaked

The rocks made of hands and eyes,

Paper not made of trees

But words of hate and non poetical yearning for me

To join


Trying to hear the words of golden-red –tears- falling

Flat, flat, flat,

With a deep dark splash,

From the heart with crimson regret

Trying to take the pain away

Just leaving my best friend

Poetry behind.

Left and right

I’m trying to be like you

Want to be you

But tell them to Stab me

You killers with your words

And my tools of the


Lay me in the coffins with the corpse of who I use to be

I promise I won't scream

Steal my paper: the soul

The rock: my heart

Leave me with the pencils-

Ur words scribbled

across my blades as I skate the brink of exile and shame.

Sorry I can't write on

The killers wouldn't want me to.

But the corpse in the coffin stood and gazed at me

Now, now, now, I promised her

The Hunters will become the hunted because

Because I am who you are.

The paranoid.

The Rock: My! Heart

The Paper: My! Soul

And the pencil: The words I scribbled with a sorry,

But all the while being a cold blooded fake.

I have not lost the will to change

But for the better

I am the Pencil: Change direction

I’m the paper: regain my soul

I’m the Rock: skipping, slip tie, to my!

Beating heart

I’m the killer: taking your breath

I’m the friend: Taking Poetry and breathing

The faded words onto her.

But most of all

I’m the corpse with the skull

In the coffin cradling

My Crimson Regret.

© Copyright 2020 2BB0RNAWR1TT3R. All rights reserved.

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