what do you think of my poem?

T

Thomas

New member
dusty shells of bullets and cravel
knelt down with his fire hand high
take it all but leave some for the restless
cruel child in the frame ruin the fun
how the hands shake then the floor brakes
the elderly try to tell try to confess
I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT
storm moves overhead
runing away scead
my cuts are deep my skin is scared
blackness where the eys should be
look away look away she dont know how to play
fallen figers lies of delevers falcon rivers
 
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