pulse

this is for everyone who had the guts but not the breath to love out loud, whose lion hearts were led to hope like sheep to slaughter, who woke each morning in fear for their lives but found their pride in a safe haven in the midst of hell; this is for everyone who's out, love is love and hate is hate and whether or not the world chooses to believe it, this is what it's about; this is for everyone who simultaneously discovered too late and too soon that bullets were the salt and we are the wound; while this world is on the edge of an infection, i am ill with fright; this is for everyone who died that night:

there are those with hearts, and there are those with a pulse,

but there are not enough of those with both.