the rain of bullets seemed to never end
on the day love declared war on hate
they hit the trees in that distant garden I watched over
the garden of defying fate
the garden is a graveyard now
a graveyard of failure
a graveyard of unloving everything you stood for
a graveyard of art...
a graveyard so despised,
even the dead rose from their graves
and crawled away, numbly terrified, into nothingness.
I'm the guardian of this empty battlefield
nobody else could live in the decay
and the bullets... the bullets, they pierced right through my body
filled my head with disease
because those bullets fell in love with me
the way someone should have
and they made a home inside my skin
I couldn't remove them without removing my mind
or worse, my soul
and even if I did, they would crumble to the ground and decompose
the same way I did in that moment
leaving permanent scars on this burning home of mine...
so I would rather keep these broken pieces inside!
I know myself, even if I forgot my identity for a while
I am too weak to take them out myself,
but strong enough to live with the poison
so whoever dares try to put the fire out this time
maybe this time, please, maybe this time...
they won't use gasoline.
YOU ARE READING
poems for the hunted
Poetry// the poems I write to prevent my soul from caving in // language: English
