the book of whimsy ✓

war

a lil depressing, but what can ya do?

---

so here i am

again

i don't know

what to say

anymore

it feels like

i'm fighting

the same

goddamn

fight

over and over

and over again

i'm tired of it

i never seem to

win

arrows pierce my

flesh

i'm screaming

blood

pouring

from a thousand

cuts

in my skin

and all i feel is

numbness

spreading through

my body

and my enemy isn't

kind enough

to give me a

painless death

so perhaps the

numb

comes from

within

spreading outwards

from my heart

frozen to stone

by medusa's glare

or my mother's

since i've never

met medusa

but i'm sure she'd be

far less fearsome

than the woman

who runs my

home.

from my brain

shattered to pieces

by the words

shouted

almost

incoherently

i can't understand

them any more

than i could understand

greek

i'm un-whole.

from my soul

or what little is

left of it

anyways

because a soul can only

exist

so long as you

live

and i feel like i'm

not

anymore

i hope i am

because otherwise

death

would bring me no

peace

and i need to

believe

that something

will bring me

peace.

here i am

again

writing shitty poetry

about

the same

fight

war is a waste of

time

so i laid down my

arms

sat down on the

battlefield

and let them

tear me

to

shreds