Some days it’s easy
The noise causes you to react
You turn your head and raise your rifle
Your finger never got more of a workout pulling that trigger
The enemy comes and goes
Just nameless faces and anonymous bodies
I’d rather it be that way I guess
Otherwise I would associate them with the humans that they are
I don’t hesitate often; that sounds terrible
In fact it can be quite easy
Kill or be killed and there is no doubt
They want you dead too, and won’t rest until one of you succeeds
But no matter what your qualms are
Nor the number of bullets you carry
It seems that the endless drudgery of day-to-day life
Is what becomes the hardest target
Four months…nine..twelve..fourteen…
The hours and days stretch on endlessly
If it was only as easy to kill time.
My friend and I were talking about this earlier… About how war is a curse, clearly, but it’s also a drug. It sort of gives life some meaning.
Shit gets real when you’re in the shit. And compared to the monotony and torture of real life, it makes sense for many.
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