There's a place for you,
But I refuse to believe
I can forgive you
For your disgusting atrocities.
Wicked storms arise to strike the masses
The cost of doing nothing causes
Between plastic jars of cotton swabs
lies the shears, mocking.
It’s promise of peace and ending
is spitefully out of reach. He lays, cocooned in too thin sheets
The glint of metal arches ...