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Stalingrad, 2024.
March 19, 2024
scarecrows falls in
their rows, one by one.
they look just like my comrades.
maybe they are,
no one can tell.
too much bloodbath in
too little time.
am i the last one standing?
no one can tell.
i didn’t know it was a joke
when you poked me under my
thick coat and said:
“let’s kill some krauts.”
if only you kept your own sense.
if only you could get up and walk
just 10 more yards,
and there’s a barn right there,
where we can shelter and play cards,
but you died at the fence.
this is not what you promised.
but rest in peace,
i will put a flag over the berlin congress.
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inspired by the story of best friend. when she revealed to me that she once had the thought of cutting her wrist (not to die, but only to escape from the great pressure of high school), i was heartbroken and decided to write this.