“I just want to die.”

That one instance, played for countless days,

Of me, in my soldier uniform, falling

Sideways, to autumn leaves resting

With the bones and bloodstains of war;

That one instance, played for countless weeks,

Of me, with rifle at hand, clutching

Teary-eyed, like stars cursed to burn eternally

Until I disappear, nameless in oblivion;

That one instance, played for countless months

Of me, with pen at hand, scribbling

Restless, writing to a god sleeping

Before daylights, for the sin of dreaming;

That one instance, played for countless years

Of me, opening my eyes, dying

Craving, looking at corpses for meaning

Until I close them, hoping for revival.