When I was a child finger prints were left on me.
I never forgot about that.
And how scared I was when nighttime came
Because those same hands were sure to come.
When I was young I witness death.
Blood and screams and tears and pain.
I saw him take his last breath
A bullet-from a spiteful gang.
My cousin laid there dead.
growing up i heard the hurtful words
which hit harder than physical blows
i felt the rage building up inside me
but nothing i can do to stop it..
later on i had my heart broken
not once not twice but quite a few times..
all by the same person
so now my walls are build so high
surely no one in their right mind would climb
and i keep hearing
only bad things happen to bad people
and to those who deserve it
but life has taught me better.
i know enough to know..
bad things happen to good people
while good things can happen to those who are bad.
life; a paradox.