A pattern emerges
It starts with screaming
And ends in blood
Whether knives
Or guns
The puddles turn red
The dirt wet
The people scarred
It happens everywhere
Throughout time
Whether in a nation of snow
Or land of dust
The evil rise
The streets run with fear
And blood
And bone
Do we even notice?
Or care?
Or realize?
We are drowning in our own blood
YOU ARE READING
Words for the lonely
PoetryPoems written by a weirdo with issues! These don't always make sense but it's my art. Enjoy!
