This Is Nothing New

I sit with my red permanent marker in hand and cross out the faces of my dead peers in my yearbook,...
Most were buried with that same expression on their face,
Yeah, that gansta-fied look,
This is nothing new,
Every year,
New book,
New faces to slash through
So I bleed the pages of my yearbook and leave it bloody with the exception of the crips that I cross out in blue,
See even dead,
They won't wear red
With the main crime that they are guilty of is wanting a family, they are sentenced to the death penalty, cause for their new "family" they go to war with each other, no not because of the color of their skin
They consider themselves better than Bush; a war over skin color is beneath them
They go to war with each because of the color of the clothes they're in and our government marks them down as nothing more than a simple casualty, these new age souljahs that are doing nothing more than what they're breed to be
And this, well this is nothing new, but I did write this poem for you, for everyone of you that have been touched by the lies society spread, for everyone of you that can be represented by someone in my yearbook I have marked dead, and not just the ones that lay under 6ft of dirt, but every one of you that people have some how managed to invert, everyone of you that just didn't seem to make it and found yourself incarcerated, every high school drop out that hides behind that purple haze, and whose schooling consists of only 75 spread out days,
Cause see…
You are dead…
At least from my point of view, and no matter how many poems I write,
I can't change the things you do…
So I sit with my red permanent marker in hand and cross out the faces of my dead peers in my yearbook,
But this is nothing new,
Every year,
New book,
New faces to slash through
So I bleed the pages of my yearbook and leave it bloody with the exception of me, that's why every year engraved on my yearbook is
"R.I.P."