The constant processing of possibilities
Unleash gunfire across the mind's war front.
The hardened lives lost are buried deeply
In the dreams and terrors that keep us up.
Each night is a battle enticed by these walls
That are stained with the blood of all recollections.
The scars on your soul leave your heart enthralled,
Pleading for peace from despair's inception.
Letters written home get lost in the air,
And rain down in ashes; charred in the fight.
Frigidly cold: not the weather of there;
Here the sun sleeps when be not even night.
Shots heard afar, you lay your head on a stone:
The sky is made of glass and a star is your home.