The Trauma of Angels

The first color is white

Bright lights

Every step towards

what is good

brings me closer to more self hatred

Gunshots and bleeding

News circulating

Dead bodies peddling

Town cries, echoing

Vultures digging

I see, and I run

Another lost, killed

I holding the gun

Pointed straight at them

Enemies of the same

This color is mine

Crucial, i relive this pain

By passing along this moment

Into another

I must continue


Recycle this one moment

This reel must be seen

I mean, i have no choice

The world must see

How much i hate my own kind