The hurt
is killing me

Other people have had and other people have
real problems

They get stuffed at the start or squashed in the fire
in the trench cold and dank or jungle hole hot and wet

I just can’t handle a little noise
a little scream
a little emanation
from my own silent gut
from my own peaceful smile

The country degrades
the answers twist
the monsters win

And I watch
I stare
I care
only for this lonely bellyache

How to stop?
turn the corner?
change to the better?
so tired
slip into the dirt

failing