It’s a gaunt and fragile line between losing your mind
and opening your eyes;
I don’t know which I’ve done but after a year
I don’t think it matters.
Most of what I stood to lose was already taken from me
and it got no worse;
when a soldier refuses to fight can the punishment be
any worse than death?
I was always disposable, bred to work hard for the
tempting ease of someday;
it’s been so long since I set that aside for the
attainable joys of today.