Drip. Drop.
The sound of blood dripping.
In his hand, the blade he was gripping.
Bang. Plop.
The sound of a gun shot in her heart.
Everyone thought she was happy but her body went down, now where's the good part?
Pound. Shatter.
The sound of him punching glass.
Dad took the blades, now who's the badass?
Scream.
He screams in pain.
Or is it in vain?
His cries, he can't contain.
All these sounds.
They can be beautiful.
But nowadays they're not.
Because nowadays style matters a lot.
No one cares about what's on the inside.
They only care about the fake side.
No one is expressing themselves in pride.
Sounds.
They are loud.
Especially ones that come from underground.
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I'm going to be posting 1 or 2 more poems today. Hope you enjoyed this vote and comment.🙃