Attrition

It's a cold, raining day in February. My name is Henri Arbour. The year is 1916, and I wake to find myself drowning in my trench along Western France. I escape my damp dwellings with a soaked, freezing coat and a pack of cigarettes. I pray they were on a high enough shelf that they're dry enough to escape my tremors. Counting on my luck, they weren't. But you could look at my luck either way; I was lucky enough to not catch a bullet yet during my year in Hell, but luck would probably have me catch trench foot. To me, that would be worse than getting shot to death. But today, luck was more or less on my side, as I found but one smoke that would light. Lucky me. Beliveau, my only friend left of the group of old pals that accompanied me to this horrid swamp of mud, blood, and decay, soon came to greet me with his dead expression. He was the only person who wanted to be here less than me, ******* was he scared. Whenever some'd go over the top, he'd be in the corner ******* himself. Can't  blame him. The roar of those machine guns goes quite appropriately well the harrowing slaughter they cause. Jesus, listen to me, that must've been the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard, and yet, I can't help but laugh a little. A bit psychotic, huh? But that's what this ******* war'll do to ya, make ya cynical as Hell. With all this digression, I missed what Beliveau had just said. Funny how the mind tends to wander more out here. “What?”, I asked, slightly uninterested. “I said a new shipment of rations just came in.” Instantly a glow came to my face. Heh, so deprived that I get this excited at the mere thought of not having to **** some disgusting rodent just to get some food in my stomach tonight. Pretty sad, huh? I wouldn't know, not anymore. I was especially happy because the last shipment that was supposed to come a month ago had been fire bombed on the way. Tonight, we'll rejoice on this small personal victory. If only we could drink away our sorrows as well, but that'll be another day. One when this ****** strife is just a distant memory that we're all trying to suppress...

- - -

It's now late March. I've been slowly losing sanity this past month, partially due to sleep deprivation, partially due to the things I've seen, the two being closely related. All month long our trench has been getting bombed, just shell upon never-ending shelling that just seems to go on and on through the never. Two weeks ago, I saved Beliveau, but at a mental cost. I noticed him talking with some other guys and saw him laugh. I called him over and asked how he seemed so relaxed. “I really don't know, I just-”, before he could finish there came a burst of light from where the others were standing. The blast hit us pretty bad. The images, though, those were visions of pure Hell on earth. What I saw in that seemingly insignificant instance in time, I can't-I-I won't ever-. For all this time my body had been raw, but now my mind was following in suit. My body is slowly becoming a shell, housing dark, black emptiness.

- - -

It's mid April now and sleep has become a distant dream. The shelling stopped, but my mind has been becoming consistently unhinged. I can't stop thinking about the incident from a month and a half ago. It's now quite evident that I'm quickly losing control of my psyche. I can't escape these images no matter how hard I try and I'm losing my grip on reality. I can't even remember my own name. What was it? Henri Ar-Ar, or was it- no, no, I have no idea now. Exhaustion is taking over full force now. I can't tell if I'm just falling asleep or dying, can't tell the difference anymore, but all I know is that it's comforting. If I just close my eyes maybe I'll wake up in the morning, or maybe I'll let go and just slip away. In the morning I woke to a loud bang and then nothing. My eyes were to blurry to see anything and scent seemed to be my only sense still in able use. It was hotter than usual, which caused everything to have an even worse rotting smell. Suddenly my hearing returned. I began to hear voices in German. A soldier started to poke me with the **** of his gun to see if I was still alive. In a panic, I grabbed my rifle and began stabbing wildly with my bayonet, still unable to see quite clearly. I was still alive, so I-”H-Henri...” Oh God, b-but, no! It had all been a dream. When I opened my eyes, I saw blood dripping down the barrel of my gun, and as I panned up, I realized what I'd just done. Beliveau was dead.

- - -

It's been three days. Beliveau was still dead. Last night my comrades decided to exile me over just shooting me in my twisted head, on account of being a traitor. It was worse than death, cause now I'd live with the guilt for the short five minutes left in my life. It was something I never imagined happening when I came into this war, but was quickly turning into a horrifying nightmare. In the morning, they sent me packing into No Man's Land with just a revolver and six rounds. I leave now, lost to this dying world around me. “Beliveau... I'm sorry. Sorry all of our friends died, sorry you witnessed so much before-before... sorry.” This ******* war has taken everything from me. My body's battered, my name is gone, my mind is obliterated, and I'm in oblivion. I can't-I can't-I, “ping”, gone. “Ahh!...”, Heavy Breathing. I wake to the sound of a train running over tracks. I'm unrelieved. It's mid April, 1916. My name is Henri Arbour. My personal Hell begins.

What is this world inside my mind?
A world of contradicting ideals, I've found;
A disturbing serenity.
A horrifying beauty.
A euphoric nightmare.
I don't want to look, but I can't stop myself.
What a graceful train wreck in my head.
What once gave me pain, I now only feel pleasure.
Vice versa.
But then I feel nothing.
Then nothing takes over and everything subsides to a blank nether.
All senses are null and void in a seemingly endless void,
Where time has no value.
One day in here is less than hour in reality, but it feels like so much more.
And then I wake up and I'm even more confused,
How could such a vast place occupy such a small space?
I'm more dumbfounded than I was in that fantastical world.
But I know one thing for sure: I don't understand it, but,
I want to go back,
I want to know what I can't understand.
That world has enticed me far more than this.
It has stricken my curiosity.
I want to feel that
Serene,
Beautiful,
Euphoria,
Once again, even if it means experiencing that
Disturbing,
Horrifying,
Nightmare.
Take my senses and swallow myself whole into the void again.
Take me back to that fantastical place.
I feel myself become complete,
And then I fall apart.
And then I wake,
And I long for that place again.
I'm losing myself to that intangible drug.
I'm addicted to its nuances my life could never show,
But I don't care if I lose my grip on reality,
There's plenty to grasp onto in that world.
Maybe I want to lose myself in it.
Maybe I don't want to be able to tell the difference between the two worlds.
Maybe I want this void to swallow me whole one last time
And allow me to enter this world for good,
My eternal dreamscape.
To experience these dreams always,
It will make this world bearable.
But what of the nightmares?
What of the things I may wish to wake up from,
But can no longer?
I've drilled a whole into my head
And everything is spilling out,
Shaping my world to it's own foul taste.
The euphoria has gone.
The serenity faded.
The beauty turned ugly.
All it is leaving behind are the poisons.
There is a war raging in my head,
and the belligerents are winning.
I can no long escape them.
The nightmares have burned out my brain.
My soul has been disturbed.
The horrors have bombed out my body,
And left me writhing in agony.
What have I done? I can't control it anymore.
I've turned myself inside out, I've come undone.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was wrong, there must be a way to reverse it.
I can't overthrow the new despot in my head. I've entered a new frightening realm;
A perpetual nightmare.

Religion
old as time
Worshiped without restraint
Persecution:
A pious pastime
Hate and prejudice
"You can know
Love and Salvation
So long as you're
Just Like Us"
But what if I'm not
Does it make me any less of a person?
Apparently so in your eyes
Why must we all be the same?
What, is difference a disease?
Don't wanna be orthodox
Is my God any less REAL?
Where's the proof of yours to dispute mine?
Don't wanna be part of your saintly sideshow
Your moral madhouse
Laws based on scripture so everyone must behave like you
If that's how you play it, then I'd rather not join the virtuous and the venerable
Of your kindly clergy
I'm not opposed to your beliefs
I'm opposed to your actions and your attitude
You wanna be friends? Sure
But please leave all that **** at the door

The mysterious stranger rode into town with nonchalant style,
And entered the saloon for a drink and to stay a short while.
Our Hero wandered over and gave a quick glance,
And thought to himself, "this fools got no chance."
But he quickly realized he was the fool as he looked the man in his eyes,
He saw no fear, no angst. The man was Death in disguise.
For this man's lost everything, he truly had nothin',
This was our Hero's most dangerous test, so he'd better not be bluffin'.
Without another sound, not a whisper nor a word,
The two men swaggered off to the towns gathering courtyard.
For what seemed like an eternity, they stared each other down,
Not sure who's peacemaker would deliver the final round.
Then as quick as flash, the two men finally drew,
And from each piece's barrel, smoke and fire blew.
With cold fingers wrapped around cold steel,
There was no other single feeling to that of death that could ever feel so real.
When the haze cleared, our hero grinned, but then fell to the ground,
The young man's life ebbed away with one last fleeting sound.
The Mysterious stranger, with a subtle laugh, eyed his bloodstained cuff,
And said, "well kid i knew you'd give me a run, but you just weren't quick enough."
Soon the crowd could tell who had found there little town,
This man was a legend, but when it came to calm life, there wasn't one to be found.
He's said to have taken at least 50 rounds, all ripped through his chest,
But no one could ever lay him out, he was unfortunately the best.
Day by day, his life went on, but to him this was no life,
For every day he'd **** to live, to survive another hopeless strife.
The Legend rode away, but the despair he left still lingers,
This is his reality, the tragedy of the gunslinger.

Trotting along,
Narrow dusty trails,
Under a black sky,
It's not like the city,
The stars don't illuminate the cold, empty dessert,
Here they just forsake you.
Lantern hitched to saddle,
All it means is you can't see more than three feet ahead of yourself,
Just deep, pitch black, inescapable darkness.
Praying for safe passage,
Armed for knowing better,
It's not fear of the dark, of course,
It's the fear of not knowing what lingers in it,
Coyotes, wolves, maybe a mountain lion,
None of 'em compare to bandits,
It's reminiscent of Twain,
Nothing like a coward using the dark to his advantage.
Red on the horizon,
Anxiety begins to sink as peach seeps into the sky,
Survived the night,
Hope to survive another,
Under a black sky

Sun shinin' in a sky
As blue as could be
Not a cloud in the sky
No gray to be seen
Warm breeze passes by
Branches sway lovely leaves of green
Can't even remember
How cold Winter had been
Dogs bark, birds chirp, people stroll down the street
What a day, what a day
Ain't no day for rain, snow, or sleet
These kinda days, heh, I just can't frown
Don't matter how heavy a problem
****, I ain't comin' down