fallujah
the streets crackle with gunfire as explosions in the sky blanket the night's peace and tranquility. all around, the all seeing eyes of green take in the death and destruction of those caught in the middle. friend from foe, fly by wire, the systems of relationships crumbling beneath the hail of bullets and shrapnel. here new bonds are forged and old bonds are splintered, son hates father and mothers against daughters. once trusting friends cower in the face of the barrel of a gun, we're not painting pretty pictures, we're not telling like it is, we're telling you stories, scenes from the front. the people you see don't have the luxury to contemplate a hope or saviour in the face of imminent death. perhaps life doesn't just go fleeting by, it becomes an anti-climax of bleak nothingness. where life just standstills as the world goes by, born into a bubble that this is all we know. and then they return into the grey of nothingness, as if it never happened, for it was better than being alive. the scars of the mind, one wonders if such deep wounds can ever be healed, the ones you can't see, the ones that are killing you inside out, where your blood vessels never heal on their own. can't they see, can't you see, that we're not the only ones that are, that nothingness really isn't something, that nothing is really something, and to be thrown back into the dark void, or bright void of nothingness, is not just to cease to exist, to not just be lost into the cosmos, to not even be brought back to a point of singularity before the cause ever took shape.
we stare down the barrel of a gun, hoping to be sucked in away from all this. how far down can you actually see?
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