​Image Source.​​​

And we fought with the monster of the society

and our blood became painting for walls and streets

raw and hot, freezing fire,

horrifically attracting

and we danced to the sorrowful rhythm

we hummed to the desperate whispering of the hymns of death

and we fell in love with pain

commuted with danger

we became one with wickedness

and we left our peaceful nakedness

and embraced the uniform of tears mixed with blood and sweat

clothed in the garment of wickedness

with our undergarments as pain and injured hearts

We have marked ourselves with the blood of our ancestors who got massacred while fighting

...to be continued...

​This Post First Appeared Here.​​​

Thank you for your time.

My pen doesn't bleed, it speaks, with speed and ease.

Still me,

My tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.

Olawalium; (Love's chemical content, in human form). Take a dose today: doctor's order.