Learn more about other poetry terms

Here we are,on this 2nd day of spring,Nothing seeming wrong,But now here you are,in my arms,barley breathing.and slowly dying,or so i thought.You finally wake,your shirt stained with tears.
One bullet one gun.   One soul and a gun, lonely, in need of justice. This bullet will prove a point, everyone is equal. All the pain annihilates the value in materials.  
Subscribe to sucidie