When I first bullied,
I did so with a click of a mouse,
and a press of a key.
Through the computer,
my “harmless” words assaulted your
The next time I bullied,
was easier than before.
Like a loaded gun,
I hurled my harsh words at your
Like a bullet to a brain,
your emotions exploded,
and flooded onto the ground,
like a gentle rain.
After that, you become stoic and emotionless,
dressed in black,
and scarred your wrist like rugged train tracks.
I thought it was funny, so I decided to cruel,
I punched, and shoved you,
made you out to be the fool.
This time was harder, because you didn't react,
you allowed me to hit you, and you refused to fight back.
So harder I tried, I pulled your hair, I called you gay,
and I treated you unfair.
I kicked you in the ribs, nearly broke your back,
and through all of my assaulting, you refused to fight back.
I guess you couldn't take it, I guess I went to far,
for that following weekend, you stabbed your right arm.
You died in your room, on the floor by your bed,
and it took eight hours for your sister to find you dead.
You left us a note, with a few words that read,
I forgive you for hurting me, but now I can finally
go home, and go to bed.
I went to your funeral, you silly goon.
Your hair was all blond, and that
ugly black make up gone.
You smiled from your coffin, and you looked truly relieved,
you looked like the boy you were, before you met me.
It's easy to bully, but easier to kill,
and though I never got caught,
I’ll forever live with this guilt.