Robert Beach

With screams echoing through these halls, Smoke begins to rise. Retuning to these murder filled walls, It's the past I have learnt to despise. Lights flashing red, blue, and white. Sitting up against the door, We've held up one hell of a fight. A knock on the door. "You'll deal with my son first!" They pulled my beaten brother by the wrist, As they cursed, Ignoring my bleeding mother. Scared and traumatized, We have survived.