What I'd give to feel
something human or real,
like a lover's kiss, or
a spring's summer shine.
To feel the breeze on my
face or a warm embrace
would be greater than any
show of strength or fleet of foot

But I can't feel a thing,
my skin is like a wall,
keeping me from feeling
bullets as well as love.
Heat, cold, snow or rain,
it's all foreign to me.

All I can feel, deep down,
is the pain inside, cringing
and scrounging in my body,
wounds from a battle I can't
ever forget, or ever throw away.

All the power in this world,
that can shield me from outer harm,
or external damage like bullets or bombs
can't fix the twisted organs
or torn, bleeding muscles
that always throb and burn
with blistering, ceaseless pain.

It's a pain I can't dismiss or deny,
but I'd do it again in a minute,
for that's what a hero does,
fighting for good, ignoring the pain.

What would I be if I gave up,
just because I ached every time
I woke up or turned my neck?
Just a cowardly, craven chicken.

I'm a hero, for better or worse,
and though it may be my curse,
it's a burden I'll gladly bear,
so that the world can live free.