you laced my life with cyanide


and now i'm afraid to even blink.


i wish to move again,


but i am ill prepared,


and my vision's slipping


in and out and out and in


and beyond realms in which i can think.









my pupils dilate


like there was no ambiance


and i just took 2 hits of X


and i'm sweating bullets


killing the floor


and trying to wipe it away


but i'm cutting my hand on my forehead


because it's creased so tightly.







i have no doubt that you'll win this war,


and that when i die


people will think that i fought for you.







i can't have that.







i refuse to let you do my memory dishonor


when it's the only thing i have to live by


after i get hit by a round


that should have been aimed at you.









i wish i could take your hand and walk the front lines


and let you be a bulletproof vest for one of the


soldiers whose life you're so careless with.





i'll use your flag to wipe up the blood


after both of us bleed dry


and there is nothing left to stand for.




we are not puppets.


we dance because we have no choice.




and you are no master.


even a master looks his slave in the eye


and doesn't lie to him.

07/10/2006

Posted on 07/10/2006
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Michael