i am alone in my suffering.
this war, i have called upon my self.
my body, a stygian battleground.
the shots have been fired,
my skin is torched and scratched,
i am bleeding inside.
my mind is - wasting away,
it's the first to -- go.
i tear and rip until all my pieces fall to the ground.
no one is there to pick them up.
i shove my being into the trash,
and i ignite it.
the torrid heat burns my heart,
and prejudice swelters in the air.
i inhale and it pollutes me.
my veins turn to ash.
revulsion overwhelms the demons within me,
and they soar like birds till i am empty.
i - am -- nothing.
bombs outside flutter, and plummet like hail.
they are the last i see in the war,
this war, i have called upon myself.
the soldiers march and march and march
and never come back,
they--are-- gone
but my cheeks are not burned by tears.
the heart within me is not burdened with a beat.
the lucidity of my image is fogged,
the sanctity of my soul, violated,
and this war--
this war, i have called upon myself,
is finally--
tragically--
over.