Two shots, right to the heart, Three Shots, missed. Shells lay around my feet. Sweat. Blood. And Broken Bones, to much to think in so little time. Fallen Corpses, Soon It’ll be me, laying among the dead, here on this War of Love and Scars. Eyes closed, perched up against a tree. Blood Trickling, down soaking the grass beneath my feet. Fought Hard, but all was lost. Six Feet down, just another six feet to crawl out of, to gain my place among the Best. Clawing at my coffin, to leave this torture behind. Defined to this box , itching at splinters and nails digging into my back. Not even a worth it coffin for a hero at war. Crimson soaking into the wood. I think I deserve the Purple Heart Of Courage.
War,Of Love and Scars. More Casualties then expected. Why Not Pull out when we could of saved more lives. Waiting till the last possible moment, when all hope is lost, and all souls are gone. Forget bodies, and memories are lost, Too bad Because of this War of Love and Scars.
All could of been avoided, had You informed me all was wrong. We could of Changed Coursed, for the better. Instead of Crashing and getting burned. But Ill keep walking with your heart on my sleeve, you keep carrying mine in the velvet box, broken and battered, all the beatings from your lashing swords, and bursting pistols. And my lips now cursed, hard and cracked like cement from the floor. Your lips are poison I wouldnt mind dying from. |
Submission Name: Battlefield in a Cellar Door
