Five By Five,
Coming down the pipe.
Missile-lock oblivion,
The dirges of war –
Sung in the roar of rockets.
The chatter of gunfire,
Each breach & barrel.
Most nights,
I’m denied any sort of weapon.
Subconscious refusing to help.
So really,
This war is against myself.
Pieces of me I cannot touch.
Pieces Of Me I Cannot Touch.
