This House is a Warzone
This house is a warzone.
The soldiers use me as target practice
And their bullets stay inside me.
This house is a warzone
And it's haunted by the ghost of a child
Too young to know
The horrors of war.
The floor is covered in eggshells
Strings cross the walls
One wrong move and everything will
Snap.
How can I grow up when I was never a child
Forced into politics and diplomacy
A cold war with no victor.
How can I love when all I've known is
Hate.
My vocal chords don't work.
My heart is locked in a cage.
This house is a warzone
And I'm its only casualty.

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Busybody
Poetry
Free Verse
writing Busybody
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