The grass seems to grow faster.
A blood worthy diet.
And fleshy bodies that eventually feed into the soil.
But the bullets don't help.
The broken weapons,
False Heart beats,
Uneven breathing,
Soon to stop beating at all,
Become brain dead.
All in a matter of time.
But a little closer, to a birth date on a tombstone.
Flood the ground.
Rest in a pool of your own red water.
Shots fired for the hell of watching you crumbling. A once breathing, beating heart, now…
Heart beat slowed…
Lungs shutting down…
Skin growing cold…
And eyes left open to stare at the sky once more before closing permanently to the world.
Left on the battlefield,
The ones with the most punishment,
Still live.
Weeping the death.
Mourning for them to open their eyes to the world again.
Battlegrounds are nothing.
Battlegrounds, leave you distraught forever.
Battle grounds are worth nothing,
But bloody hell.
