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Walking onto the wispy sands of Saudi Arabia was the first time I got a real live peak into the world of evil; there wasn’t an angle that you could look from
That there wasn’t a display of evil for you to soak up into
The sponges of your membrane. Widows distraught with the loss of their husbands,
They decide to take their place in war,
Teenagers on every corner skipping school to shoot at the bums in the empty alleys and byways.
Like the mind of an infant, I just sit back and try to absorb it all.
But somehow by the next morning it all seems so new to me, like the previous day wasn’t existent.
There’s no way to explain how it feels to try and go to sleep
With the sounds of men moaning in agony
With a bullet lodged into their ribs,
Or what it’s like to turn the corner of an empty street and in front of you stands a 6 year old child with hands barely big enough to fit around the magazine of the AK-47 he’s pointing at your forehead. His little eyes blood shot red from sniffing glue all day to fill the void of his parents dying at the hands of an American soldier only 4 days prior.
11 months of this hell takes a serious toll on you, Mother; which is why I’m writing you this letter…
I no longer want to be in a world where these kinds of things exist, I assure you that this has nothing to do with how you raised me; I honestly believe that you’re the only light of good in this desolate world. I love you, Mother, and I’m sorry...