The Massacre

I’m the empty carcass of those bullets lying by your feet

I’ll leave my plain face an open sheet

So you can read the imprints of happiness once found between the lines

A sheet, scorched and badly mended

Like copper that isn’t really copper, but iron

Painfully affixed and rusting with age

Made to act as a disguise, simply a method for disguise

But now I am no longer that

My petals scatter the floor, mixing and mingling

With the others who were locked and brutally beaten inside

With only the stormy winds of this cold, cold night to settle me

And the heavyness of the room that keeps me tied

I wonder if you feel it too?

The feeling of being tired, so so tired

Encapsulated by these lasting thoughts

As I wish I can escape this dimension

Your fearlessness is envied, you did what others could not.

I wonder if you will be able to overcome

This tremendous pain

And drift, freely from your constrains

Just as you did to us.

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