My heart is ripped apart,
my eyes are full with tears,
as they were the one who were killed,
I am the one to bleed.
these gunshots resonate in my ears just like their cries desperately asking for help.
God's place was made a battlefield.
(49 of us have gone)
m.g
YOU ARE READING
The bleeding rose.
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry and prose.I write for those who were left in destitute,those whose scars and pain are left unattended. Come with me and explore a journey through words.
