I feel SICK.
Empty.
Half a being.

This silence
Is driving me crazy.

No one is bleeding.
No screams to be heard.
The battle-cries are silenced.

All I see is a whole lot of nothing.
The adrenaline is gone.
Without the rush, the burn,
I am dead.

All the fighting, I would sob,
The threat of death,
Loved ones being hurt,
I prayed for peace.

But this peace, it’s WRONG.
It’s too silent.
Eerie.

And I sicken myself in hoping,
Someone will swing a sword.
Aching to remember the feeling
Of pure, raw violence.

I need my rush, my high.
The wind on my face,
Wings in the sky.

I need the searing pain,
The crimson of blood.

I need the crushing misery,
I need the burning grief.

Only then do I feel remotely human.
Only then do I feel alive.