I close my eyes and see rifles in a pretty little line The feel of the strap against my palm brings back memories of blood and bruises, of lost fingers and burst vessels. It wasn't meant to be this way... I was only a replacement.
Ceremonial sabres fall to pieces beneath the soft touch of callused thumbs. Sleep comes not easy to those who've launched a blitzkrieg. My Guard Mates know the tune I sing, Smoke made a ghost of our life in the Octobers of a third year. It's not fair. We lost two weeks of life separated by a constant rain of fire. I was only a replacement.
Skin's peeling back, scar tissue's turning white, cracked lips call out never ending orders. I was only a replacement.
Viral Agent · Sat Apr 05, 2008 @ 06:27am · 0 Comments |