War
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.

