Damaged, Boy

The kids play,
The streets fill with dust,
And I can't stop insanity in a bowl of apathy.
The sound falls short,
The kids have guns.

The insanity toils, finds refuge in soul.
And bullets fly.

The past in the back,
The words can't be felt or read.
And weary eyes, filled with sand;
The bullet was lodged,
The fact of yesterday stills my heart.
The beautiful cure will be it.

And excuse me,
The loss is thine own.
And falter I might, I may...

The bullet is done.