In my youth I courted war
Willed it to grant chaos
And destruction
It mourned for the thrill
That only I had the terrible privileged to wield
In its elegance there lied a weeping child
Speaking of sorrows one so young should not yield
As I grew older I favoured the sickness that hallowed me out
Allowed it to grow to the tips of fingers
And poison my tongue
Watching as it decayed, turning me into a lethal weapon
Mercy is foreign to me
As is my reflection
I learned to late that war creates survivors, not victims
So for those who survived me
My childish heart aches for you
But you will never know
For that child caged in between my ribs
Is rotting
