Who are they killing?
These human beings running away from themselves
and away from those we love;
and away from those who leave us;
By choice we choose to love
and hate at the same time
For no love is so great it can strangle flames;
For no human being is so great he can change the world;
But it is quite so possible to bomb away,
anyway
At great heights,
we push buttons and exterminate millions
And it wasn’t our fault,
but the machine
The machine is our great deceiver and the machine
is what we feed with black gold
Black gold, at the bottom of oceans and
mixed with
blood
on battlefields

Who do they keep killing?
For their love of people, they ****
They **** reflections of their own families and friends
The cruel game of war
We love and hate
and we love to hate
and we
hate distances
but we create so much distance as if
the machine; air planes; bombs and knives
could destroy our bodies
At the end
we dread those distances
Those distances are ways to death and ways to die
We hated those distances
in the end;
we regret the moments of breath we didn’t
share
in fear of being rejected
When we run away from each other
We hate each other
And we love to play the game of
forgiveness and pain

Open up and love people
even when they are rejecting you
Because that’s just our
nature
Because war is in our nature
Because we should see the flickers of right and wrong
Because we should stop
before we start
killing one another
like small soldiers
Falling,
and never
coming back to us
Read the last lines backwards
That could be us

**07.07.14

The bombs already drop
in rhythmic succession,
brewing but little
condemnation.
Millions bleed the colour of soil -
impoverished by
rich mans toil.
But not a tear,
not a song is shed - unless,
they bleed the colour of
the dollar bill.

religion should be about hope
not putting fear in other people's souls
should be about about peace
not about starting wars
about forgiveness
not about punishing innocent hearts

imagine all the people living life in peace

but how can one do this when bombs are thrown
instead of love
when moms cry
and children die
peace is impossible to be seen
when music dies and we hear only desperate hearts
praying
begging
wondering why.

we have different Gods and rules
our prayers sound different
our holy books are not the same
and
there are many sins in our souls
but
you're not God, nor am I
and none of us should play
the game of washing sins away
with spilled blood
and shed tears.

Blacked out again,
unsurprisingly,
swallowing the room.

Spinning in a lucid dream,
blessed to consume.

Breaking into.

Ash shadows
drill bit chest
I am not your savior
I am a suitcase bomb
I only devour
breathing fire

and I will apologize to no one
for doing what I said I would.

The bustle of people
The joint between the teeth
The city comes alive
When the sun goes down

She blows out a circle of smoke
She's had the practice
Everyone tells her to stop
"***** them all," she says

The moon is high in the sky
But no stars can be seen
There's too much smoke
So much smoke

She knows it's bad
That's the point
With each inhalation
She's closer to detonation

People walk by without a second glance
They've got everything on their minds
She's got one thought
Let this be the night

But it's just another night
Another night
Blowing smoke
In the city that comes alive
When the sun goes down

Bomb for a bomb and the whole world goes blind.
But sure, it's not my house collapsing, so I don't mind.
An entire terrace brought down without a care.
I guess our children are more important than theirs.

When under attack, by all means defend.
But a good offensive's impact extends.
The young afraid of the sky will grow.
Their memory won't be impaired you know?

So by fighting back we create our foe.
First hand, future generations will know.
Bomb for a bomb and the whole world goes blind.
Blind from the past, blind from its victims, blind.

Her body was a time-bomb,
her eyes crying the seconds
His hands were the only comfort
But hands can break bonds

And bombs can destroy people.

Cloaked in my blankets,
I hear a fulmination of sounds.
The sounds of children weeping,
And of bombs capturing the ground.
I covered my ears and secured my eyes
Only to find that this time around,
These sounds were not inside my mind.

I released my uniformity of quilt,
And stared upon an empty shelf.
I imagined a place of prestige and luxury,
And the greedy percentage of interminable wealth.
I envisioned families with crystallized patios and polished rooftops
With clothing that glistens like gold and parquet floors that exert possessive pride.
Where a vast mass of appliances lie,
And sculptures of dinnerware are overflown.
But my eyes began to water when a flag was waved with an infinity sign,
And stacks of green paper were boastfully thrown.
And way far beneath their intangible table,
I began to feel a vibration of sounds.
The sounds of the powerless praying for just a couple of crumbs,
As the families fed their colossal crowns.

Over head there is bombers, they shake the houses with their roar
There is an end coming soon, one of beautiful madness
The sun is blocked out, and the world becomes dark
And the candlelight, whispers a song, for the coming hellfire

It occurred to me this morning
As I shuffled under the sheets of his skin
That if he was Fat Man,
I was Nagasaki
And if he was Little Boy
I was Hiroshima.

Because in the end
I will be the one with the disintegrated body
And deformed children of memories
And he will fly free,
The mushroom cloud of my soul's ambition
Billowing in the distance.