Walking mined fields of unexploded ordnance <br />jittery obsessive compulsive organizing make up <br />my nights, <br />while dreary sedated automatic response and long sleeves <br />hiding nervous breakdown lacerations moves me <br />through through the work day. <br />Daily grind amputation by fire, <br />victim to last decade's wars. <br />Napalm Sunday patiently awaits, <br />surveying iconoclastic explosive damage from the previous <br />evenings. <br />Confused metaphoric melancholy <br />of flesh and clothing seared off by <br />petroleum based terror. <br />Brightest days blindingly unbearable, <br />Darkest days sheer unexplainable terror, <br />hardships in cerebral dungeons, <br />labyrinth of unbalanced chemicals <br />filled with the rotten stench of war. <br /> <br />What right do I have to scream?<br /><br />Charles Darkly<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/napalm-sunday/
