He was broken from his glory days;

the whiskey wasn’t working anymore.

There was no way he’d ever change his ways;

he drove back over to the liquor store.

The devil had been on his mind again;

he fought the feeling today was his last.

He could not twelve-step away from the pain;

just praying that this moment would soon pass.

Then he awoke in vomit, blood and tears;

the Sig Sauer was lying on his chest.

He had been dying daily all these years;

now he was dying for a lasting rest.

He knew he’d never see his friends again,

then bowed and said sarcastically, Amen.


About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
This entry was posted in death, Poetry, suicide, Uncategorized, veterans, war and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Hero

  1. soitgoes1984 says:

    Reblogged this on soitgoes1984 and commented:

    there are more men and women dying by suicide after the war, than are being killed in it. We are pawns to the government, they really don’t give a fuck about any of us so lets not pretend. The government admits to TWO DOZEN SUICIDES EVERY DAY, but it’s likely far higher… and there are no statistics kept when Gold Star family members take their own lives.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s