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My Night MAG
November 4, 2012
Her voice,
It rattles the home she believes she created.
A home?
This is a home?
In this home, threats are bullets.
Her endless ammunition.
The door is my shield,
Too weak to protect.
Although I am not the target,
I remain within the line of fire,
Absorbing every blow like a stone soldier.
He looks at her through eyes,
So high,
He refuses to come down
For when his mind is in the sky,
He has no reaction to her cry.
As she screams during the battle,
Her selfish war,
I hide alone in my barrack,
Hardened from the core.
© Anonymous
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