All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies always have drawn flies

Third time’s the charm
but it’s been five..
seven..
fifteen..
I’ve lost count.
I think this one’s deep enough
I think this one comes close
to rivaling every wretched thing
I did today.
For all the discourse about it,
they always neglect
to mention the raw
beauty of it.

The scarlet beads and
uneven armlets
curling around edges
of untamed flesh
grotesque on the outside,
uglier on the inside,
𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐲
it’ll be deep enough.

Is it worth all the worry,
The tension, the cost,
The poor sleep and fatigue,
The happiness lost.

The what if's or maybe,
Will it happen or not,
Worry is wandering,
It never will stop.

So learn to accept,
Your life is a scene,
A chapter, some improv,
On a three dimensional screen.

Those you will love,
And some you will lose,
Each day is a painting,
Worry works as my muse.

There's still an imprint of
your hand on my face,
from the day you first struck me-
a love story between
paper skin and
iron fists.
It's been long since the redness faded
(long, not gone)
a bruise visible to not another soul
but mine.
𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘋𝘐𝘋 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚.

It smiles back in pictures
mocks me in mirrors
follows me on the street.
You created the mark
but I gave it a life,
a name- a structure
and decorated it with my self worth.

Bruised knuckles smeared in betrayal
𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸
Snake infested waters
𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘥.