Fallen Footsteps

Fallen Footsteps...

As his head hits the ever violent pillow, he hears the ghostly marching of memories
crashing through his head, disturbing the way he thinks. Every night the same.

He has had several hours sleep in a torturous week, or had it been two.

He can taste the sand and dirt of the past as he tosses and turns restlessly.

Hearing the deathly silent shouts and cries of the fallen.

He can feel the cool sweat from his brow feeling remarkably like the thicker red substance that had escaped a friend after a fiery metal embrace.

He can smell the non existent aroma of sulphur in every room, unable to escape the days of lies.

The fallen footsteps of many thundering through the halls of his possessed, trapped mind.

As his head hits the ever violent pillow, he hears the ghostly marching of memories
crashing through his head, disturbing the way he thinks...

... Every night the same