i don’t live.
i don’t die.
i don’t march through blood soaked
fields
i don’t run while the mortars
rip
the ground apart
all around me.
i snort.
i drink.
i smoke.
i laugh.
i vomit.
i bleed from the mouth
like an
infant
begging, swirling whirlpools of pavement
stained crimson on
the white lines
driving to your house with thoughts of
enjoying a smoke and maybe
playing a little grab ass
but instead
i am parked on the side of the road
i am 24 and
going to die
i’m not a
soldier
i’m a
drunk
addict
puking his life away
fueling the highway
with
blood.
the soul floats like smoke out
from the heart
all around me.
no guts for a
bullet
only a
bottle.
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