Once, you fought in a war, and now the scream of bullets sounds too much like someone calling your name. The battlefield is calling you home, but your heart isn’t in it anymore. You lost it long ago, buried it with your brother. Your childhood went too, and you’ve never unearthed it. You never liked dirt under your nails, you already feel unclean.
When the dead started walking the earth, you kept catching glimpses of yourself in covered mirrors. Your watch stopped on your own wrist. You counted the seconds yourself, never knowing whether you were counting backwards to the day you lost him or not. When you were loading your gun, you prayed your bullets would not find him. You hope he wandered as much as he did in life. You hope he finds a place he can rest. All you can do is hope, but that’s a rarity nowadays.
You killed your first man before you had your first kissed.
You buried your first body before you had your first boyfriend.
You keep hoping for better days, but the rain keeps on coming.
You are losing yourself in no man’s land, even after the war is over.
The dead are still walking the earth.
You are walking with them.