When I Can't Do Anything Else

Ricochet

Trapped in this fast-paced riot,
Any direction I turn, I see everyone with bulletproof façades and heavy artillery by their backs,
A warfare locked in the minds, behind those infrared scopes that can see right through your exhausted body,

I need a companion in my battlefield, another shoulder I can sling my other rifle on,
My pulse is detonating each step, weaving through barricades of my own self, trying to dodge the bullets that people have created, that I created,
A bomb goes off, an implosion so catastrophic; it's a nuclear war zone in this head of mine,
A fallout, and there's no place to escape the severity that the upcoming years will and can cause,

I see my friends running around, shooting, getting caught in the middle of these cacophonous crossfires,
See them with a face of hope and intensity,
They're trying to help me, but I see them, one by one, a bullet goes through, and they're like domino blocks in a chain reaction; toppling like inanimate objects, a devoid of life in an orange, fiery lighting,

I'm stepping on the minefields, once a meadow of flowers and grass, now a destructive force; to fend away monstrosities that tries to make its way,
Explosions, fire pillars, and the reverberating sounds of gunshots can be heard everywhere,
A shout there, a shout here, seemingly war cries, or the clamor of pained, desperate tears,

Covered with muck and grime, ash and every particle of the bloodied soil I'm standing on, I swear my heart's coated too,
The sky was filled with artificial substances, and the land here was lit with sparks and blitzes, cluttered with disposable men, dead bodies, fires that can equal to my passion, and my tendency to be more alive than ever,

A horde of armor clad men, aiming at me,
Aiming at my running soul, and I sigh as the compact ground starts to shudder in sync with my thoughts,
In less than a second of silent reprieve, I'm in the receiving end of their assault,

Ready,

I may be hacked and slashed, and I may look like the radioactive parts from the bombshells,
I may seem afraid from all of it, I may be sore and worn in the edges,
From all of the mags that grazed my skin, all the ammunition that burned and wrecked me,

Aim,

I will stand tall,

I can withstand all your shots, those trigger-happy hands you have, or lies that you all have stored within a grenade, and the missiles of your opinionated disgraces, and all of your wrong schemes that will cause me to drop dead,

I will keep clutching on to my pistol, and I'll keep on firing until my last bullet has reached its end,

I will keep on trying until I can't stand no more,

Fire!

All their bullets ricocheted

//k.u.