War

Dear God,

The battle I feel inside is making my mind feel crazy. Being drafted into a war I did not choose, being overrun by enemies I thought were friendlies, not being properly trained or outfitted with the right defensive gear, and left alone in a foxhole peering out at the destruction where these assailants continually attacked.

The worst strike times are at night. The darkness hides the enemy even though probes of light give off shadows. The probes are silent intruders looking for movement so the enemy can fire at the target thus destroying it. The probe also helps me see them so I know when to take cover or assimilate myself into a fighting machine. One that will run uncontrollably out of the foxhole and kill those who are trying to kill me.

There are many dead bodies inside of me.
Many who are wounded.
Many who need mental and emotional help.

But you're the Great Physician.
You have troops that can help.
Why can't I let them help me?
There's so much infection that has to be cleaned out.
Maybe too much for them to handle.

That's my greatest fear.
I'll be alone again.
Trapped in a foxhole waiting for the enemy to appear.
But this time, the enemy will be my knife.
Or maybe, the knife will be my friendly.

Amy

Despite your political beliefs, I liked this piece.