By Sahara DeVille
There is shrapnel in his skin,
So deeply embedded it is now part of him
Picture it, if you dare,
like pennies pressed into cookie dough
That's somehow more stomachable, no?
And the doctor is dead, under a pile of rock
And medical supplies were kept from the truck
That wasn’t allowed in anyway.
I would, if I could, but times are tough!
And nothing anyone is doing, is even nearly enough.
And the world stands by, desensitised
Watching another modern disaster
More genocide.
Please, please, let it sink in.
There is shrapnel in childrens skin.
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