There’s a feeling in the air tonight
like pink paper soaked in urine
it trails out dye over a dirty white floor.
Voices are screaming but still unheard
Not mine, mine is silent. It’s not a fight that’s mine.
My fights are different, a whimper instead of a scream
A piece of myself to leave to the world
to conceive and carried with it death.
My reason to scream.
Wizzy Wind 