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.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
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.
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