Broken bruised bodies on the cold hard floor
Smell of iron and death fills the damp air
Smashed faces unrecognized anymore
Calling for help but the blue boys don´t care
Tried and restless yelling for a fight
As burning buildings crashes to the ground
Noise of running floods the streets late at night
Ripping through blazing gunshots round and round
Hands up screaming justice for the young dead
Like noble warriors marching the field
Holding onto ideas with great tread
As they stand firm never going to yield
Standing strong for those who cannot rage out
And for those who whisper but want to shout
About the Creator
Affection and Healing for Yourself
During the night of the last quarter moon, I gathered my ritual supplies. I carefully handled the chunk of black tourmaline that would protect me from your overall negative and narcissistic energy. I carefully walked the house with my stick of selenite in hand, asking the universe to cleanse our working space.
By Alisha Wilkins ✒️🦋🖋️8 days ago in Fiction
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