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    dots Submission Name: Wonderdots

    Author: grimmreaper
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 122/43/23
    Words: 647
    Class/Type: Poetry/Love
    Total Views: 591
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 4105

       discription of a friend tht will always be remembered. note:he never killed himself in real life but he had tried more thn once

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.


    He wasnt your normal blue eyes
    Blond haired boy.
    He wasnt the type
    That girls normally chased after.

    His two inch hair,
    Often times stuck up
    In all different directions
    Due to him not wanting to brush it
    In attempt to see
    If it would afro out.

    Sometimes he would walk by
    A big smile stretched across his face
    His pale blue eyes
    Twinkling of happiness
    And he would pat his hair
    Telling me
    That he “still hadnt brushed it yet”

    The look of such proudness
    Never failed
    To bring a smile
    To my face.

    During work
    He would make
    Giant wads of rubber gloves
    And draw faces on them
    Just so he could show me.
    Telling me
    How he was going to take it home
    And save it forever
    Tell he had grandchildren
    To pass it down to,
    Only so that I can bend down
    And laugh
    Tell tears streamed down the sides of my face.

    Our boss
    Would find us in the back
    And he would be telling me
    How he was going to be
    A famous movie producer
    And make movies that are so great
    That “Even Steven Stillberge
    Will be kissing his Butt”

    He would see me in the lunch room
    Sitting by my self
    And he would come over
    And talk to me
    Telling me about his latest comic book
    And how he plans to spend what he has left
    On the latest issue coming out
    And how ever so often
    His loving grandma
    Would bring him stacks and stacks of comics
    Just for him
    That she had hunted down at some yard sale,
    And he would tell me
    Of how
    He would read
    Every single one of them over
    Even though he already owned most of the issues
    Just so
    That when his grandma asked
    If he enjoyed the comics she got him
    He could say yes.

    We would sit in the lunch room
    And he would tell me
    Of how
    He would get so mad at himself
    For messing up over some things
    That he would have to pour salt
    Over his arm
    And hold an ice cube over it
    Tell it melted completely
    To burn away the pain.

    He would tell me
    Of the times
    The horrible voice in his head
    Would taunt him over and over
    All day long
    Tell he gave in
    Doing whatever it told him to do,
    Showing me the scars on his hand
    From the knife
    That he was forced to cut himself with,
    In attempt
    To quiet the voice.

    Some times
    He wouldn’t show up to work
    At all.
    And my boss would call his house
    Over and over
    Only to get the answering machine.

    Sometimes I wonder
    If maybe I had tried harder
    To be there for him
    He would still be here
    To tell me his crazy movie ideas
    And show me his new faces on his
    Rubber gloves.
    To make me laugh
    Over his new jokes
    And make me cry
    Over his sad stories of pain.

    I wonder
    If he would be here in front of me
    Telling me
    To smile more often
    And not let so much weight me down.
    To show me his crazy hair,
    And horrible comic drawings
    I wonder,
    If I will always miss him this much,
    And wish,
    That I could see him
    Just once,
    To tell him
    How I really felt about him.

    Sometimes I wonder,
    If he really loved me too?

    And sometimes,
    I wonder,
    If he knew,
    That I would hate him this much
    For leaving the world,

    And leaving me.

    Submitted on 2008-10-24 05:52:02     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      No, there was nothing you could have done. From the sound of it, you were one of few bright spots in this kid's life. The problem wasn't with you. I tell you from knowing, the problem is never you. Even if one convinces themselves it was you (anyone else besides them), they are laying to themselves. You (specifically or in general) cannot cause anyone to do anything.

    Over all a good write. I know this kid, cause I am (was) that kid, subtract the whole killing myself part. I never had the courage or the selfishness to go through with it, only to think about it.
    | Posted on 2008-11-07 00:00:00 | by nicodemous | [ Reply to This ]

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