Paper rockets fly across the room when she walks in...
holding her books to her chest rushing to her seat,
Messy hair and nerdy glasses, you can see no drop of tear....
like a defeated soldier, she decides to retreat

Gum on her seat, ink on her paper work
the toilet's filled with sketches of her....
notes stuck to her back, books dumped in the trash
seems like pain became her pleasure !

I think you don't know about her after sunset...
if you hear a knock on your door after twelve, its her
if you pass by her house you can sense something dark...
don't peek through the windows, what you witness makes you shiver.

Last year, one by one her bullies went missing
clean sketch, no turning back only I know what's wrong
last Christmas, cries filled the cold winter night...
I guess she knew the place where they belong

Plain Jane, they misinterpreted, silence was the curse...
behind her every grin laid a wicked murder plan
In the silence she remembered their voices and their faces.....
that was when her game plan began

If you hear someone knocking....
or hear a rhythmic walking.....
it is sure that your name's on one of her lists
if you take her knives, she'll never spare you're lives....
with rage she'll knock you dead with her fists

- Robbielee





© Shirley Robert