Am I a monster,
Because I cannot feel?
Through war,
Death for me has become so real.
And life is but a sweet sweet steal,
When metal searches for the one it kills.
Where is the glamour that’s supposed to conceal,
What medals and awards can never fulfill?
For guilt consumes and leaves an empty shell,
Of a young heart and emboldened eyes,
And cracks of skin clenches the arms of hell.
Dark corners shelters the pang of regret,
And a haunting question of “did I do my best?”
I’m afraid love can’t rescue what I have left,
For the sands of a thousands miles uncovered the greatest theft,
That shares the wounding of brothers I’ve never met.
Do monsters live,
Because I have died?
The only shard that makes me human inside.

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