On the mornings of August 6 and 9, 1945, the United States dropped one atomic bomb on Japan on each date, destroying the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, thus ending the Second World War. This poem is from the point of view of a Japanese citizen in Hiroshima on August 6, 1945.
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Scars don't go away. There's always a trace.
Whether that applies to WWII, or the pain of betrayal.
Six years. Two sides. Two nations, their stories intertwined.
Let's see how my version of WWII plays out in this universe, shall we?