The Gun

 

Conversations with the wind, 

Dead blow through,. Time transcends.

May I Ask where you’ve been, without all your vital skin?

Come home soon mothers kept your room.

Her son is the wind, my gun killed him.

Come home soon, my boy, not yet bloomed.

It’s been fun, on the run with the corpse of your son.

Relaxation, peace of mind.

Until, News in the Times.

Hell envisioned!

Know now of my sin,

It is I, the killer’s innocent friend the Gun. 

Reviews

[Nae Nae]

This is really good ...Not only how it flows but the way you rhymed the words. I think it tells too many truths, wonderful in a sense yet terrifying in another.

I love this piece ...Keep it up.

Nae-Nae ...