She held a gun that made the whole room take a step back,
loading fear into everyone’s minds, the courage she lacked.
Lifted up her arm and put it to her head,
of all the things she knew, the secrets that she bled.
As everybody watched, their words fell short.
As one person to the next seemed to know more, and more.
Though rumors will travel and spread until they’re fake,
but they didn’t know the struggles she faced.
Her mind was once filled of curiosity,
a life full of wonder, the person she could be.
A brain full of imagination that once was intact,
would face all the hardships, that will never come back.
Afterlife holds the girl that held the gun,
that made everyone find she knew more about everyone.
The girl who kept all the secrets inside,
stood in front of a room with nothing to hide.
“I’m fragile,” she said on that cold bright stage.
“And I’m not the girl who hold fear and rage.”
Taking a step forward to the microphone,
she pulled the gun out, stating she’d be, ‘far away from home.’
And in front of an audience who watched her say,
they watched as the evil whisked her away.
And no one knew what would happen next,
she lay motionless on her stage, she bled, she bled.
She believed that they must see her die, to witness her tragedies,
but tragedy lay far beyond what their own eyes got to see.
A room full of people, different from each,
never knew one girl could be so out of reach.
And the girl with the guns story every day grows colder,
as the tale every day seems to grow older.
The moral to my tale is to ask what’s wrong,
or you just may find you waited to long.