I sit here
I peep through the hole of a wall I call a window
As bullets run out
And burgundy fills the streets

My alarm is the sound of
a bullet fired
the **** of a gun
the sound of somebody's son
hitting into the ground
gurgling-
as he tries to speak through blood.

My reality is foreign invaders
trampling on our soil like they made us
Bombs.
Planes flying overhead
This smog is suffocating us

A constant war that sees no end
Just an influx of discarded bodies

I wonder when I will be next.