No.
There are no good stories here.
No rainbows, no smiles.
No gold, no laughter.
No love, no family.
No good stories here.
We have blacked out windows.
And finished lives.
We have broken hearts and broken souls.
We are the ones at the gates,
Collecting bloody tolls.
We have your mother,
Sprawled out on the floor.
You can have her for the price
Or she stays.
You don't ever come here again.
copyright 2015 salvador cordova
