Bound to detach from who we used to be,
we are changing creatures, shapeshifting
monsters of the night: grown up safe in a
place like heaven, but swallowed shots of
fire and schooled by the Devil; your words
then slit throats - you revel in hot blood.
And like glasses of wine, you toast this
victory, your win over death of innocence,
drunk on dictatorship. You filter cries from
your eardrums, drown them out like static
so you feel no remorse when you murder.
Oh, but what a shame it is you don't quite
remember how it feels to love someone.
YOU ARE READING
you are not in wonderland ➵ poems
Poetryan assortment of shitty poetry i write gratuitously in my free time.
