Broken Teacups

xxi. your ugly battlefield has scarred me for life and i hate you for that

and she falls to the ground, her armour riddled with silver bullets
dark blood pouring like rain out of the pitiful holes
the battlefield behind her is ablaze with fiery words of wrath
as broken soldiers crawl forward with crooked swords
each seeking to do the most damage to the other
(but really just yearning for soft comfort and understanding)
they're tired and battered and broken and bruised
yet they carry on
(BUT WHY? FOR WHAT? JUST FUCKING GIVE UP ALREADY)
with trembling hearts and misty eyes on ghostly faces, pale and sweaty
tears, grunts and sighs linger in the air, every day of her meaningless life
their 'one last time' never works, their 'one more chance' always wasted
she pleads with them to abandon their war,
to leave the dusty battlefield
but they say they're fighting for her, as she would perish if they didn't
she stares them down with glazed eyes, her lips dry and throat parched
because she'd rather have them stay apart, sharing her time between them
than see them on their war ground, screaming but staying unheard
she could simply shut her ears, throw out her armour and run far
but how can she when their moaning wounds compel her to stay?
their battlefield is old and cracked, worn out over twenty two years
(seriously? twenty two years and you still haven't learnt?)
yet they carry on their wasteful war over the worthless prize of...?
dust
and she falls to the ground with her broken armour
as the fire continues behind her
it's useless to hope because she knows that twenty two will turn to thirty seven will turn to fifty one
and nothing will ever change
because her soldiers are persistent
and she loves them,
but hates their devotion to their duty
(YOU'VE LEFT ME GHOSTS THAT WILL HAUNT ME FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE)
(IF NOT FOR ME, DO IT FOR YOURSELVES, AREN'T YOU TIRED?)
(BUT FORGIVE ME, IT'S NOT MY WAR TO FIGHT, I'M NOT A FIERCE SOLDIER)
(BUT THEN HOW DID THESE BULLET WOUNDS GET HERE?)