by Yasmin Hozeil22 Mar 2020
It was already the middle of the night.
July's heat was dancing with the numbness of November.
The stars and the moon were so bright.
Brighter than a hope in a locked champer.
I just shooted people like cans.
Memories piled up one by one,
whispering that bad is good that spans
and I would never see my son.
Fear of God invaded my soul,
daring me to make it stop.
Pride and strengh left me in an empty, silent hall.
Just me and Fear smirking: "time's up".
I looked down, a human layer covered the ground.
Fear: "there is going to be another round"