War twists and contorts
a young, man's mind.
Once innocent, with thoughts
towards a bright future,
now, a mind changed forever,
destroyed by hand to hand combat
in North Africa.
Never knowing who would die;
himself, or the man he was fighting.
Two gladiators fighting for survival.
Only one wins ... but does he truly win?
Today the victor sits in his own
A parallel universe where
he doesn't exist,
so nothing can hurt him.
The shadows in the darken room
provide him camouflage
from the life he wishes to forget,
He sits, waiting for a new prey
I wonder how many times he
challenged life with his bare hands
before he lost his soul.
Now, he sits in the window,
liquor bottle in his hand,
his favorite utterance ...
"Corrette, Go home ..."
constantly poised on his lips,
ready to let fly
whenever Brian comes up to play.
I think he's jealous.
No one ... wants to be his friend.
They had wanted to kill him in Africa
and now, this is the only battle
he can still win.
He kills the bottle.