Battle Against Self


Mangled metal, corroding concrete,
Muddled courage, and cracking streets.
Dark, spidery clouds crawl over the sun.
The distant crackling of guns
Is still heard on the silent field of battle
Where lay broken gun barrels
And forsaken sons in the perils
Of war.

I walk among the wrongly hung:
A graveyard of innocent young
Where a mechanical shell of myself
Wanders with a searching crimson eye—It finds me—
It charges with creaking joints and crackling shackles
Grime grinding in its gears rusted from battles
Of war
My shadow bears down upon me
Driving its jagged claws into my knee,
Dragging me across the field of slain, screaming.
Suddenly everything fades black: I’m dreaming.

I wake up in the garden of slain
With mechanical part where there used to be heart.
It was not a dream, I am the war machine
I rise, wiping my tear run eyes,
And set my crimson vision upon the world I tyrannize

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