Why do you pick on the uncool kid?
The bruises you left, the ones that he hid.
The names that you call him, weirdo and queer,
But only when teachers aren’t around to hear
Behind his back, you say mean things
And to his face, more words that sting
All through school, you’ve been in his life
Causing him pain, causing him strife
He’s asked you to stop, “Please, no more pain”
But on you’ve continued, like it was some sort of game.
And later you’ll laugh, brag to your friends,
But your cruel reign of terror will come to an end.
You do all these things, but act so surprised,
When the very next day, you face your demise
When you mess with a kid for all of his days
You should pay in so many ways
If only you knew of the pain he endured
The times that he cried, his emotions outpoured
He finally snapped, and you are to blame
You, your friends, and your sick little games
That’s why, today, you look down a gun,
It looks like this game is no longer fun
A boy with a gun, a bomb in the school
Because for your friends, you tried to act cool
Your days are up, a few minutes to go
It’s going to end with one final blow
The police are outside, but forbidden to enter
On you the killer’s attention is centered
“Look into my eyes” the crazed child said
Inside there is nothing, inside he is dead
‘BANG’ goes the gun, you fall to the ground
The police charge in, but you hear no sound
You ruined his life, for this you are dead
Why didn’t you choose to be nicer instead
The last thing you see is him get in a car
Blue and red lights flash from afar
You think to yourself, ‘What have I done’
In this sick little game, no one has won
copyright February 18, 2008
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