Song of Arms

The narrow slits part and I look outside.
Black children scream,
hearts explode,
cars speed and crash into trees...
And now I am the Devil,
raising my hands to the sky,
parting the asphalt,
crossing the lines,
tearing everything apart.
My wishing is one over another,
so I aim towards the moon.
My sores never go away because I touch them too often,
so I cut them out.

And now you no longer know my name.