Days of War
My eyelids snap open, startled by the promise of another day and the fresh Hell that now awaits me. Feet hit the floor. Head spins. Heart beats against bone, demanding emancipation. Insides twist themselves up into a noose.
There is a sense of pride that fills me to know I have to fight for my life every day. There is a sense of shame that fills me to know I have to fight for my life every day. When your enemy is invisible, how can you hope for anyone to relate? When your enemy is you, how can anyone hope for you to remain?
Life is measured in many ways: days of love, nights of fun, gains, and losses. How is survival measured? When days and nights all bleed together, and loss is all you seem to gain, how can you qualify this as living? I don't think you can. I certainly don't feel alive.
I walk over the smoldering remains of halcyon days and as the soot blackens my boots, I realize.
These are days of war.
There is a sense of pride that fills me to know I have to fight for my life every day. There is a sense of shame that fills me to know I have to fight for my life every day. When your enemy is invisible, how can you hope for anyone to relate? When your enemy is you, how can anyone hope for you to remain?
Life is measured in many ways: days of love, nights of fun, gains, and losses. How is survival measured? When days and nights all bleed together, and loss is all you seem to gain, how can you qualify this as living? I don't think you can. I certainly don't feel alive.
I walk over the smoldering remains of halcyon days and as the soot blackens my boots, I realize.
These are days of war.