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.
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
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.
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