One hundred years of solitude, within one day,
between four walls.
The ever-returning thoughts of failure;
red to ochre
bloodstains all over the wall,
then the one memory that broke your fall
as the pale shimmer
of a phosphorescent ghost…
Is my story more exciting than yours?
Or did you get those scars in a bloodier war?
The pen can be mightier than the sword,
but guns would kill us all.
If only you could summon up the balls,
to stain the floor with your bullet-ridden corpse
vomit away your soul
say goodbye with the sound of broken bones
& a leap into the unknown.
Would your mind change before hitting the ground?
or would you leave with a taste of regret?
The war started before you were ready,
the fighting will fall silent without you knowing,
you were never ready for anything