Arguments are battle fields.
Our tongues the swords,
Our words the fatal injuries.

The scene plays out as strategy in the tents.
Your men versus his.
You pick the casualties from his side,

Ego,
Pride,
Trust.

He picks his from yours.

The blood, warm, soaks the earth between you.
Desperation in his eyes.
Mercy in yours gone.

You pick up your weapon,
He flies his white flag.
Afraid, he surrenders.

But he walked into battle,
And you take no prisoners.

You swing your axe.
His blood runs down your arms.
His body falls.
His head rolls at your feet.

You lift your head.
You're back.
Blue couch,
White walls.
Black fan.

He sits in front of you,
His face as though he's been slapped.

He started a war,
You finished.
No white flags allowed.