Black Bullets
All the streetlamps she follows home, Darkness surrounds her in black smoke. Every step echoes like a whispering dome, Followed by a shadow of a cloak. Empty bottles lay broken on the street, And among the dark, angry clouds, Blood stained by a crow's feet, They whisper their avows. The cold wind blows right through her bones, Opening the gates, she follows through Bending down low, she stares at the clones, That are displayed for world view. Red tears stain the broken graves, Phone rings, and a rush of crows flew, Beyond the dirt lay hundreds of slaves, Drowned in a dark blue. But mercy becomes just a game, No longer played for fun, Pins and needles used for shame, The crows are shot with guns.
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