Happy New Year? Happy–no more.

As fireworks go boom, on days of celebration,

nothing hits me harder than the realization,

of how,

To others elsewhere,

That blast is a sign of warning.


symbol, for the beginning of mourning.

An exclamation, that a life, or lives, are no longer living.


Oh, what goodness could this New Year possibly bring?

Smells of burning flesh, fill the air.

Somebody’s brother just got crashed, without care.


As the fire gets lit, another house just got hit.

 When can we get over with it?

Instead of squeals of joy, and belly-aches from laughter.

A mother screams, over the remains of her daughter.

Windows tremble, and wives crumble.


For like cake, someone’s husband just got baked.

Clouds cry, and phosphorus falls.


Acid flies , filling the halls.

There goes,

A hand,


Half a brain, gone with the wind.

Another blast, another corner.

5 shots down, they don’t know who’s now become a goner.

bang, after a spark.

They come out at dark.

While we stare in awe and wonder,

“How beautiful is that flower?”

They stand in fear, in front of a soldier.


“Will I live another day? I wonder.”

When will they stop?

When will this end?

Because every timea blast resounds.

It’s Her eyes,

that I see.

Her fears,

that I feel.

Her screams,

that I hear.

All in the works of revenge,

by a man who craves for nothing, but land.

A soul,

With dreams that will never be.

A ghost,

That will never be free.

A girl,

Forever stuck at three.


Goodnight, little angel. Sleep tight, little one. 

I’d say don’t worry, for Justice is near.

But it’d be a lie, that much is clear.

Because your life, and those gone with you,

mean nothing to the world.

For they give you no thought.

None at all. 

Alas, that is the reality, of a life, of one who’s given no identity.

It is what it is,

For you will only be, nothing but a girl of,


Where the worth of your life, is disregarded.

Because, fame and money,

is the only thing, that is guarded.

*All rights to pictures belong to it’s rightful owners.

Pictured events are of various times, each with stories of it’s own.


1 thought on “Happy New Year? Happy–no more.”

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