March 7, 2010
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We bite our tongues,
blood filling our once clean mouths,
we dare not speak.
Our language written in screams now.
Watch how souls writhe, wither, wane
until wretchedness or wickedness come upon them
sweet poisonous fumes
to ease the torture of morals
into an autistic survival.

The rain isn't enough anymore,
no natural shower will ever
cleanse this taint away.
As soldiers we are denied the rights
of mortal men.
Our consciences are clear only because
we learn not to possess them.
We are the dead living,
quite the opposite of what you suspect.
We are fighting for images and people
that are worn through with so much remembering
we forget.

War is a word. War is a being. War is an action. War is a sin.
War is self-manifestation of the worst kind.
War is feeding on fear till we give in.
War is pronouced We are:

We are less.

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