Defaced

Unremarkable nights lead to obtuse days

Arguments made effectively irate

But I counter the second-hand consolations

With reminders of a yesterday so extant in its ache

So ailed, my soul, with every excuse as to the memory's survival

Coalesced with all the versions of what may or may not have happened

Withering away, the rot begins to stink

Doused with sickly cultures

Torn from the bases, the barracks, the front lines

That should have met me with fate

A prevailing caricature to the reckoning of inheritance

Teeth gritting through every dig for the bullet shells

That stain my fingertips with the tar of their powder

Deformed and defacto

A fraud to these soldiers

A waste of all these good things

Defended, wrought with self destructive habits

Maybe just to make it up to them.