War

Melissa Hochheimer
Jul 10, 2017 · 1 min read

Patterns ingrained in a soul that’s been maimed

Striving for greatness that cannot be obtained

A weak, soft cry is her anthem.

Searching outside for a value within

Dragging her body through a war she can’t win

A slow, heavy step is her defense.

Not able to pinpoint her version of truth

She drowns in a glass of whiskey and vermouth

A strong, bottomless drink is her ally.

To give up is to fail yet her attempts are futile

Internal warfare becomes increasingly brutal

A deep, dark despondence is her armor.

Broken, she yearns for a new set of eyes

But the wounds are too deep, her will compromised

A stark, white flag is her victory.

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