Their filthy uniforms,
Covered with our dirt.
Their hands bloody,
Wet with our sins.
Sweat breaking their skin,
Fear pumping their heart,
Their loved ones standing still in their pockets,
With no hopes of seeing them again.
They press the trigger of death,
As they take in their final breath.
YOU ARE READING
For I Was God.
PoetryPoems that put emotions to words, painting a vivid and disturbing picture of the human psyche down the path to insanity. At times terrifying, at times profound, and at times brilliant.
