She kisses her scars
Amongst the dark of the night,
For the taste of blood,
Or the taste of self-love?

She drank the tears she cried,
For the drowning sensation,
Or the hope of a better fate?

While she lay empty on the grey-tiled floors that felt like the bottom of a *** bottle,
She only wonders,
Would this change anything?

How many more wounded soldiers before the battle is dead?
How many more tradgic memories need to be burned into innocent minds?

How many more terrible poems before I get a better grasp on humanity?