To The Ones Who Can't Hear Me.

I always cry at night. I don't know why, but right before sleep everything seems much more monumental. All the suffocations become too much to take. It is why I am awake. It is why I don't sleep. It is why I am writing to you now.

I have this fire constantly burning in my chest, small nuances are slow drips of lighter fluid. ACUs. Blue trucks. Lollipop by Lil Wayne. Southern accents. Pictures. How was I supposed to know you were on Yahoo News? I just wanted a quality picture of your handsome face. Instead I was faced with a quality picture of the salute they gave your coffins. Fuck lighter fluid, that was a tank of gasoline.

This still feels wrong. This isn't the way this was supposed to be. No one I love was supposed to be hurt. But now they are shot, mangled, torn and murdered. And for what? Can you answer that? Do you even know? None of it would matter anyway. Nothing is worth another human life. Not religion, not culture, not societal norms.

You shouldn't have beat your friends home.

Comments

[Another Soldier]

I'm right there with you. We're contantly dodging bullets, both real and imaginary. Sometimes those bullets leave scars for us to remember them by, and the stories that are shared because of them. Every day I reflect back on the past, and those who are now in the past. They help to make me a better person. They help to make me understand. Don't cover those old scars, display them proudly cause you can and you love them for who they were.