I do not stir.
The frost makes a flower,
The dew makes a star,
The dead bell
The dead bell.Sheets are not necessary
Love is absent
Fearful moments
Horror and pain
Horror and pain.Legs spread wide
With knives and machetes
She's only a child
The gun tied to the stomach
Bang bang bang.Who's pulling which trigger?
Who's in control?
Why be a beautiful fool?
God help us all
Save us all.{For the women who are victimised in countries where there are limited rights and gang culture. This is important: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3272079/The-dangerous-place-woman-hell-Honduras.html.}
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}