Thursday, 17 June 2010


The guns have stopped firing - the dead lie still and desert dogs gorge themselves. We climb into destroyed enemy tanks - looting souvenirs of war. Enemy Fox-holes are cleaned out and photographs capture our happy living faces.

The land is burning, black smoke hangs in the air as fires rage unchecked. Tracer fire and flares compete with each other as Britains children celebrate victory by firing into the sky.

We leave the desert behind us and return to the world. I sit and stare at a Cheeseburger. Dead flesh that once lived. Next to me a Man complains his dead flesh is cold. I explode into rage. I hear muttering as I leave. 'Fucking weirdo' 'Prick' The words mean nothing to me.

I can't sleep in the soft bed next to my girl. I lie awake and pull away as she tries to touch me. Mum won't leave me alone, she keeps hugging me and kissing my forehead. Dad stands next to me as I smoke endless cigarettes.

I sit in the corner of a pub, no one speaks to me. I smoke and drink, looking in from the outside. I miss the war so very much. I am unarmed and alone. I smoke and drink some more.

Dead soldiers stand in the room. They don't speak to me. They point accusing fingers. 'Leave me alone' I whisper the words. They move closer. Dead flesh that was once living. The guns have stopped firing...

1 comment:

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