They get into guns and they perform the arts
of senselessly killing those who also have hearts.
They become the remnants of whatever they lost back then.
They become their pasts in their attempts to live again.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoetryYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
Kids
They get into guns and they perform the arts
of senselessly killing those who also have hearts.
They become the remnants of whatever they lost back then.
They become their pasts in their attempts to live again.