Shots raining from the sky are moving so rapidly.

You stare as they fall right towards you.

It's right in front of your eyes the bullet that'll end you.

Time has stopped and there is nothing you can do.

You are paralyzed as you stare the bullet down.

You're down, it's over, and time starts again.

Your mind flowed from your head riding with the blood.

It stained the pavement and you watched from above.

Your shooter was there looking at your body.

Then he left, and you were alone.

When you were found the next day a chalk line was drawn.

That was all that was left, no one knew you.

The chalk outline was you waiting on the pavement.

Need the rain to wash you away so you could leave this place.

But it keeps you there and you're not leaving.

They left you there as a chalk outline, as if that summed you up.

You're the only person who died there.

But you are just remembered as a person who died.

That spot is you.
That bullet is you.
That shooter is you.
That chalk outline is you.

You left your own chalk outline because you couldn't walk away.

Especially when you needed to.

That is being shown to the entire world.

Forget all the kind words.

They tried to help you.

But you wouldn't listen.

Now look at where you are.

You're the chalk outline.

Don't deny it.