Shells at soldiers’ feet. And we are shells, membranes filled with empty promises. “There will be peace.” But how come there’s war? A war we didn’t choose. A war nobody wants to win or lose. Nobody wants a war. Shells in my sister’s hair. How come the future seems like a long-forgotten past? Shells in my granny’s hair didn’t blast. Screams that no one hears. Outcasts can’t find a helping hand. We’re zeroed out by those with power and a …
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