taste the metal on your tounge
you are singing a death song
stop firing your word bullets
for they do not all wear vests

stop asking how does this feel
if it is made up or real
pain does not need evidence
for tragedy has no face

please hush your judgement for now
listen and take it in slow
after,tell me,tell me then
things are always what they seem:
‎
silences that are too loud
drowning the beats of our hearts
wounds that are not surface deep
shadows robbing us of sleep

look,there are monsters that feed
on us,not just under beds
even while in broad daylight
even when we seem alive

they all suffer a slow death
the end—they meet like their fate
only here they still remain
their bodies numb to the pain
-W.