My eyes open.
The world is millions of different hues,
Yet limited to black, grey and white.
Everything seems to shimmer,
The outlines constantly shifting.
Then I know where I am.
The blood spatter on the carpet still there,
A ****** handprint on my guitar.
The knife is still stuck into the wall,
Where I left it.
Stained sheets and towels sit in a pile,
A crimson mountain of past misery.
A shirt sits rumpled on the floor.
I pick it up,
And see a groaning hole
Where I cut out the US Army logo.
This is the day after I got back.
Pleading words cut into a chipped wooden desk.
A trail of red circles leading toward the bathroom door...
Non vincere bello fortis.
"A warrior without a war to win"
But I'm not a warrior at all.
At least,
Not anymore.