that pretty girl

waking up thinking it was going to be a good day

hugging my mama never thinking it will be the last time

both five years old

with the white gold on our necks

promising to be best friends to the very end

with the blindfold on covering my eyes playing a little game

counting to five

running around her house with the pretty white stairs

her brother calling us to grab our shoes and come outside.

walking down to east side

hand in hand with the pretty girl I call my best friend.

7pm on the weekend

the seven eleven shops that I use to escaped.

 

now turned into my nightmare

what happened is unfair.

truing around to see the cold bodies on the floor needing a prayer.

I swear I wish we were elsewhere.

it looks like a murder with blood now that we share.

aware that this might be the end.

a gun to my head

with three men

black boots, black jeans, black shirt, black mask

with the blue eyes and the tattoo arm

the brown eyes and the scar across his cheek

 

or the one with the busted lip

yelling and yelling from left and right

getting those cold shivers on myself

she's telling me it will be alright.

all I see is white.

all I wanna do is write.

write down all my pain and tears.

when the night strikes at dawn

I say I'm fine, but I play pretend.

and yet I still hear them call.

hoping I fall

 

with the blood I draw

creating pictures on the wall

with my own warm blood to forever be reminded

this song is to make amends.

to the girl that I called my best friend

the one that I never got to hold her hand again.