People Problems

Winter Blues

My dear diary.

One bullet,
two bullets,
three.
One after the other.

As I fell,
all I could ponder,
is why I had been caught.
Why I felt warm arms sheltering me.

Could that've been my selfish desire?
To live, while others cripple like dominos.
I certainly hope not, I fought with purpose.
I am not part of a mere circus.

Nor am I okay with him,
drying my salty tears.
They spilled out of regret.
Why couldn't I live in spite of my fears?

Alas, I am never able,
to comprehend his persistence,
in fighting for a lost cause.
I cautioned him, for it'd cost.

Indeed, the days grow icy.
Leaves turn crisp and crimson,
falling in surrender.
I survived the summer winds.

Now, he must brace himself,
to hear and process all my doubts.
There is no easy route,
in stumbling through, the winter blues.

Here I am, the so-called soldier.
Harboring a burden, one of a loser.
Supported by my trusty medic.
Oh how much I pray for anesthetic.

Next time, somebody crumbles,
I plea that he save them,
not me, anyone but me.
In the end, they've somewhere to go.

My dear medic keeps a blind eye.
Many would phrase as noble, I say foolish.
He won't listen to my direction.
"Only to care for the smitten!"

Their lives chance a happy ever after.
Mine, deemed nothing such.
All he's fueled on is lust.
Albeit I assume he's making a worthless fuss.

So as the next gunshot rings,
It's his duty to save them,
those with family, someone to come home to.
Then maybe, in my questionable deathbed, I'll last through the winter blues.

Sincerely the so-called soldier.