Medals Upon My Chest.

The disciples of war often leave us with empty stomachs, frothing at the mouth for more. Blood! Guts! We don’t have anymore. What else can we give? How else can we live? Bullets whiz by my neck as my brother bleeds like a sieve. A tear leaves his eye and falls down his cheek, I see his children within it like a crystal ball of contempt. honor. respect. medals upon my chest. I’m tired. I’m dehydrated. I’m shot through my vest. All for peace, all for freedom, all for a nation that has no belief in second best. I just want to rest. I just want to rest.. In peace.


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