The How the Was and Stupidity

I speak with the broken.
I do with the quiet as the woken.
These times rarely interesting nor palpable.
Not that I mind conversation so casual.
But pesky words.
Similar sounding chords.

When they ask how was it?
How was it?
How that life is?
Did you like it?

Yeah sure ups and downs.
I go through the rounds.
It was just my job.
Head pumping vein throb.
I jumped off helos saved a few souls.
Swimming 7s along and over the shoals.

When I think of times I had?
How they thank my service?
How I hate it every time?
Did I like the CG?

I did glorious things.
But now the bell rings.
Is not what I did.
But not is wont rid.
Sick its makes my insides.
The curved sword that divides.

When people want to know?
How I thought about life when?
How I changed character so tall?
Did I surpass that stupid question? 

I fester knowing it was my fault.
That is okay.
Only bed I will lay.
So stop for history is to stay.

Its my wound to bathe in salt.
What use is this past.
This broken useless cast.
I still obey still hold this mast.

But then maybe even
maybe nothing at all
This is not truly
Not even a memory at all