Cover Your Wounds | Poem

Gods don’t make bullets

Filled on angelic life and beliefs,

Not anymore in production.

Pick your greatest weapon,

Load it on saved bullets,

Shoot me if you don’t see a smile.

Takes these lives, Deathra,

Whomsoever says again,

Do what you love!

You will get it somehow.

Now, the reality hits,

All I see is to die,

Sounds scary enough,

Well, I desire it bad.

Now, cover your wounds,

And leave for light,

I’m alive on darkness,

Stay or leave; it doesn’t matter.

I choose to leave on death

Like I want the world to bow

Not in a dark place,

Where these words die too.

Come on, my love,

Why do you wait for pain,

I wrote the last wishes,

Let’s leave some night.

Now, I sleep; resting the case

On the doors,

You once called dreams.

© sjwordsmith


Dark Humor Author | Poet | Creative Fountain | Borderline Personality | Proofreader | Content Writer | Automobile Lover | Found me at

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