Well, every day and night.
Every moment alive,
We spent our time,
Together by the roadside.
Just two bunny buddies,
Loving our free-roaming,
Black and white,
Contrasting to passing eyes.
And every day and night,
One boy would pass us by,
Pondering the day,
That he might not see us,
Here on the roadside.
Just two bunny buddies,
Loving our fun little lives,
Black and white,
Contrasting to passing eyes.
A roadside attraction,
Turned tragic,
Why wasn’t it me?
Why wasn’t it me?
WHY WASNT IT ME.
Just one bunny buddy,
Mourning over a lost life,
Just black.
Left to fend off passing eyes,
And a burdened boy who saw the aftermath,
And left it to rot.
This really ****** me up. I don’t usually give context to my poems. I don’t have anywhere else to vent something like this. The road I take to get home is narrow and curvy. Very dangerous if you’re not paying attention. There are animals in the area. The main cast being two bunnies, a black one and a white one. They hung out all the time and I would slow down to make sure I never ever hit them. I always had the intrusive thought of one of those bunnies dying. It came true. I rolled up the road and there they were. The black bunny was standing over the white one. It hit me like a ******* brick. I couldn’t and can’t stop crying. I’ve dealt with death and I’ve seen death. I still get so torn up. It was late, so I kept going. I feel selfish and guilty. So..y’know, made a poem.