“I Told You It Wasn’t An Accident, Didn’t I?”
Senior Peyton Hardy writes a psychologically thrilling poem.
Those cold words.
The words that stuck with me the day I died.
It was at that cemetery where Zayn spoke those words to me.
It was at that cemetery where Zayn killed me.
Zayn killed me the same way he killed my father.
Out of nowhere.
A blow to the head.
A fall to the ground.
Another body in a grave.
No one remembered me.
No one asked where I was,
No one called,
No news report,
Brokersville was nothing but an anomaly.
A place of death and despair.
A place where He still roams free.
I will never forgive Him for what he did.
He was just supposed to show me around town.