This war is so haunting and even when I close my eyes, visions assault me.

I cry out in my sleep; these battles we fought parade before our sealed eyelids. (They take me back to the front lines and foxholes,

but I’m a poet and do not know how to suture a cut or dress a wound.)

My heart feels an explosion is imminent but I never learned to detonate something so alive.

I sat up around 2300 last night, watching stars and trying to distinguish them from bombs.

Some exploded.

Some didn’t.

But the persistent ticking reminded me that we have a limited time left. Why use bullets and bombs? Why use hand grenades and not hearts?

This changed everything.

I defected in the morning.

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