Iraq by Johnny CrimsonBreath,
I can't picture the battlefield,
at least not
the way it acutally was,
I no longer see the familiar dying around me,
just the remains of charcoaled ghosts.
Only the remnants of twisted dogtags and shared confessions
litter these dusty streets.
I can no longer tell you
with any such accuracy,
the way it was to be,
or if anyone died by my hand(s)
All that I can really recall
is my breathing,
that much I know is accurate,
that much I know is sincere
in MY story,
it was hell to breathe. 01/06/2011
Author's Note: (I hate war,I miss war)
Posted on 01/07/2011 Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson
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