Postcard from Heaven
Gonna bite,
gonna fight,
gonna tear off the sky and trash all twinkle little stars.
Not gonna lie,
not gonna hide,
not gonna censor my tears.
Fed up, tired of being here, get me out.
Every little thing triggers the most invisible pain,
like a mosquito bite turning into major bleeding.
Bullets are fired in from one end of the brain,
coming out of the other end,
dropping on the ground,
silently forming a chain of pearls.
No resonance heard,
only tears spread.
