They see medals and scars
and say I should be proud.

But they haven’t seen
the things I have.

The stench of death,
when  your friend is
gasping his last breath
in your arms.

I don’t know what
their dreams are made of.
I forgot it long time ago,
but I know that mine are
forever filled with shadows
and fears of the past.

Every morning starts
With a load of pain.
I can only hope that
darkness will swallow me up,
so I can finally rest…