In the absence of oxygen,
A fire cannot grow.
In the absence of hope,
A soul comes to a slow,
Grinding halt.
I can hear the brakes squeaking.
Bone against bone; tendons creaking.
It's all so pointless now:
The lines, the rhymes,
Flow and structure.
I can feel the point of time
Puncture through my ribs
And towards my heart.
Read on, read on
I've lost,
You won.
I am the only one left
Fighting a battle that
Didn't need fighting for.
"That was patrol,
This is the war."