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The boy that bought you flowers yesterday
now carries your father's head in his bloody hands
muttering the prayers of hallowed purgery
while you run towards the darkness,
towards a silhouette of an imagined abode
where your soul will find shelter.

But you are not fast enough, are you?
a bullet of fist shoots through your
stomach and your face licks the soil,
...asking it why it had forsaken you,
why it had not chased away your grandfathers.

You rise and run again
but you feel the blood trickling down your face,
you feel the fire burning your toes,
you feel the sun raping your skin,
you feel the soil sinking your feet,
you feel the world watching you burn

and you cry till
your voice
fades
away,
you cry for help
till it is clear
that the world
just loves to watch you burn.