And I am the hypocrite
who swore to protect you
with everything I am
just to see my sword
piercing through your heart

I am the angel
that caused your death

Give me a minute
To read the stars
Lamenting in their stories
Their laboured twinkling far and sparse

Give me this moment
To stumble and swoon
My branches reaching for
The faraway moon

Give me a while
To be one with the universe
Hear the colliding planets
As they spill their mournful verse

Give me some time
To plot my rightful place
Within my uncharted galaxy
And collapsing space...

You treat her like some problem that you needed to solve when all she needed was for you to accept her.

Some riddles don't need solving.

When one can no longer seek for justice, when one has already dried up his tears and lost his voice shouting for help, when one can no longer complete a sentence or throw punches because of fear: **BE THEIR VOICE.

This war is not a cleanse,
Red is not the color of water*

He promised a bloodbath, he delivers
Blood in his hands, he waves
His men with guns, in rage
All those against him: a huge price they paid

and if you still think this is normal,
if you still think this is for the common good,
you
are part of the war
you are the weapon
you are the gun

the gun that killed innocent lives and called it "collateral damage", the gun that pushed cops to **** lives to meet their quota, the gun that went from one hand to another to another and was finally kept hidden by the man on the chair

"How well would you sleep tonight?"
"Brother, why do you have blood on your hands?"