the shouts of terrorthe whizz of bulletsthe thumping of drumsmy heart in my throat Her tender hands caress his skin,his eyes looking into horrors,horrors of the pasthe cannot escape. luis falls blossoming of blood,the screams “please” “help”they mean nothingmy hands cover his woundthe light fades out Whimpers escape his lips,shattered glass lies in front ofContinue reading “come home”