My skin is a war torn battlefield.
There are bomb creators and trenches.
Some weapons do little damage,
While other cause mass destruction.
It all begun as a one night scrimmage for freedom
Then uncontrollably progressed into a never ending battle.
Some days there were whispers of truce and surrender,
While others there was bloodshed.
No warriors pick sides in this fight. No one is safe.
All injures come from friendly fire.
With each shot from the gun,
And stab from the knife,
The guilt lessens and the dark satisfaction grows
Deep inside our hearts like an unwanted cancer.
Harsh pain swells until it becomes uncontrollable.
Unbreathable air as thick as blood.
Heavy fog covers the scarred landscape.
There is no escape, no safety rope.
All must fight for themselves.
The weight of time is carried on the backs of each of the weaken warrior.
Hope is all gone.

War waged on until there is nothing left to fight for.
There is no life left on this barred landscape,
Only savages striving to survive.
Driven mad by starvation, loneliness, and hopelessness.
They scavenged for a hint of hope,
A shred of something good to believe in.
They were all severely disappointed and slowly withered away.
The once beautiful land became unrecognizable.
Only dried blood, decaying flesh, and scars remain.