losing all
your will
your everything
until a shell
flat broke
with money
becomes of you
full of angry
frustrated
and raging
confusion
so now here I am
existing without enemy
and what's next...
is nothing special,
day in and day out
alone
empty
in a room
with battle trinkets
and more nothings
describing situations
long past
remembering awful things
in convoluted ways
dreaming of past missions
loves, friends and reasons
coloring in the edges
to make for a more
palatable being
to be remembered
with glee and reverence
in satisfaction...
but for long
it never lasts
and now all's collapsing
on all sides
losing structure
becoming distorted
leading to dilapidation
like an abandoned diorama
left to ruin
left to weather
left to be forgotten
my mother always said...
"memories cannot save themselves"
- grave yards are stupid