tw // violence, gore
***
the gunfire,
shells dropping to the ground,
trigger finger tired,
hot metal and strong hands.
the bomb,
loud fizzling,
ears ringing,
a whole building reduced to ash.
the civillians,
panicked pushing,
praying, hoping,
the bullets don't hit them.
the little boy,
bereft,
begging his big brother, neck snapped and blood pouring,
to get up, please get up, you have to get up.
***
A/N: ya girl is salty about a lot of things, okay?
YOU ARE READING
the city
Poetryand no matter how much you water scorched grass and withering weeds, you will never make a garden re-grow -M.R c.2016
