"Be Careful"

Violence in her home town.
She’s cleaning her room to distance
herself from her mind and the world outside.
Hours go by, but worry grows stronger.
She’s picking through all of her things;
trying to throw out the unnecessary.
An unexpected find: a pocket knife.
Given to her by her brother; he felt
no need for something like this.
She pockets the item and some how
her mind is put to rest knowing there’s
security with this little bit of protection.

What are the chances that her friends
house will be robbed two nights in a row?
Very likely, actually because the robbers
from yesterday are now dead and their
friends want revenge.

It’s a raid. Asserting of masculinity.
The men are all ready to fight.
I just want to be neutral.
My mom will be disappointed if I’m hurt.
She’ll be crushed if I die.

They have guns.
They have knives.
They might rape me.
They’re going to kill my friends.
Over what?
Money? Weed? Power?
I don’t get it.

I’m trying to stay out of sight.
What can I do? I try to text
someone for help or call but
they see me and smash my phone.
I’m walking on thin ice.

I reach into my pocket.
I stab the boy with the gun closest
to me just below the ear.
Panic and chaos.

I’m bleeding now.
Most of the people are
fleeing this shack of a house.
I can’t move.
I can’t feel my legs.

I’m trying to hold my blood it.
It’s everywhere.
I can’t believe I’m going to die
next to criminals.


I shot her.
She probably wasn’t a threat.
But I did it anyways.

I would have done the same if I was her.
If I saw my friends being killed and tortured
one by one, I would have stabbed someone too.

She killed him. But I killed her.

I went back to the house.
I forgot my keys.
The only people here are
either dead or dying.
All motionless.

I see my friend.
And I see her next to him.
She looks like she’s sleeping,
but I know she’s gone.

I walk over to her body.
She’s still gripping her knife.
I take it from her hands.
The blade is dull.
I wonder how she even broke skin.
She must have been really strong.

Maybe it’s a good thing I killed her.
She probably would have had enough
fire in her to kill another gunner or two.
Who knows, maybe even me.

I look around even though I know I’m alone.
I take her purse and run from the house.
The cops will be here any minute I’m sure.

I drive to a near by park to settle my nerves.
She has hand sanitizer in her purse; good thing.
I open her wallet. No money inside.
Broke college students, figures.

I would take her debit card but that’s
the easiest way for the feds to track me.
Instead, I spend a long time looking at
her drivers license. This picture looks
nothing like her. I read the information
and type her name into my phone for later
and dump everything but one piece of gum
into the dumpster next to me.

Later that night…

I type her name into facebook.
She’s the first one that pops up.
Fuck… she’s beautiful.
I wish I got a good look at her
before she started bleeding everywhere.

I spent the next 20 minutes
on her webpage. I read all of her
information and even listened
to a band or two that she listed.
Not bad.

The next few days I became obsessed.
Every day I would read her facebook.
It started to get sad because people
started realizing what happened to her.
So I would scroll down farther and farther
to read things she once typed.

I found her blog one day and her
poetry another. Again, I became
engolfed in reading and learning.
I don’t know why.

Once, I was reading a poem she wrote.
It sounded like she wrote it for me.
I started crying.

She was so smart.
So sensitive.
She’s dead.

I’m in love with the girl I killed.

"Be Careful"

jasmine806

Joined July 2010

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