(Excerpted from a piece of fiction)
War feels familiar. In some sense, it also feels familial. Today is a battle. So was yesterday. Our guns are loaded. Grammar is dead. Cuss is in.
We are in a battle. No one wants to win. We are both losing. Spirit and blood. One ounce at a time. I hold my enemy as she lays tired. I kiss her in a desperate attempt to nourish her.
This is our version of the rumble. We are expending collateral for a war that ravages us both.
A poem without a meter and rhyme. Feels like everyday, Spin?
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