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We drank the blood of our forefathers mixing their revenge filled blood with ours
the holy anger in us is burning
and consumed the little shreds of mercy left in us
Our indigenous colonialists
who have nothing but guns for the hungry
whose only thoughts are about death and dying
we release to them our heart fortune
let them harvest blood from the fields of war
and their last banquet shall be their children's blood
and death shall finally bring its dancers and singers
and death shall walk them down to the aisle
with eternal condemnation joining them in devilish matrimony.
This Post First Appeared Here.
Thank you for your time.
My pen doesn't bleed, it speaks, with speed and ease.
Still me,
My tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.
Olawalium; (Love's chemical content, in human form). Take a dose today: doctor's order.
Amazing story