Doomed to die,
I learned to enjoy the sound of explosives.
My tears are fireworks,
my sorrow’s a guide.
The streets are the war scenes and
I won’t put up a fight.
My thoughts in slow motion,
buildings falling apart,
your face on the banners,
but someone’s tearing it down.
And so, it starts,
I become the dispassionate observer of your eyes,
again.