Can you accept me for who I am?
See the value my heart still holds?
Will you pick it up off the ground where it rests
Horrifyingly bruised and treat it like gold?

Is redemption too great of a gift to demand?
Ask myself is it too late?
If this love is still worth fighting for
Why are we also filled with hate?

Or are we just frustrated
After investing so much
Only to witness all our efforts
Still not be good enough?

A couple once envied by dozens
Now pitied by those we know
If we had before not been up so high
Would the low still feel this low?

Which am I addicted to more?
The rush from drugs or the scent of your skin?
Why do I have to make that decision?
There's no option where we both win

Where will the criticism stop?
When will it change to compromise?
Can we save our relationship
Before the intimacy dies?

How do we repair our damaged trust?
Cause I don't see how we will
Do you think we really have a shot?
Are you even in love with me still?

Why do I scream at you when I hurt?
How come I can't control my voice?
What commands me against my will?
Temper leaving no other choice

Can I overcome these violent urges?
Are these tendencies an unbreakable curse?
Will I ever become a better person?
Or am I destined to only grow worse?

A room with a quiet light .
A space lit but very dim.
It's dust I see .
Apon the drapes , upon the tables.
It's past full of sin.
A step in , and the floors creak.
As window blows out , cold air seeps in.
Just waiting for that thunderstorm to begin.
Quiet was the feeling , so afraid to look up .
The ceiling on fire , filling one cup.
Hot and steaming across the room .
Stood a cup of tea half gone.
And that song ...
What song ...
Quiet wind it's gone .
Now music plays and there's a battle won .
A celebration of happiness beyond.
Sudden lights go out , dark prevails.
And screaming puts a knife to your throat.
Can't say no more, the quiet wind becomes a wail.
It's cold now and I need my coat .
To walk the world away from that room .
I have failed to see what I made my tomb.

I grew out my beard.
I grew out my stomach.
My ears ring randomly.  
My eyes see things differently.
I speak or say less.  I move in silence.
I sleep in when I want.
I haven't touched razors since my return
nor rifles since the field ops.
I've grown in maturity mentally.
I've grown insensitive verbally.
I've grown to miss the uniform
and pride of belonging in a brotherhood;
I miss my extended family.
I miss the people, not the troubles.
I miss the gym, where others alike
flexed invisible muscles.
My days once had routine,
pattern, structure and rhythm.
Weekends full of workouts, worship, and beer.
Weeks full of work, blood, sweat, and tears.
I've grown in experience.
I've regained freedom as a civilian.
But the transition has been a grueling process.
Yet, I've grown to be grateful nonetheless,
as not everyone gets to go back "home" ...
(remember the fallen) ...
However, if I'm honest, I don't think there's ever
an actual adjustment...
[I'm growing]