Young and fresh and just out of high school

Remembering how your dad’s medals always looked so cool.

Determined, you head to Camp Lejeune.

After 13 weeks your dream came true; finally, in dress blues.

No time to rest, you’re off to some faraway place where people will shoot in your direction.

Yet you tell yourself you’re prepared with conviction.

But the war has left you bare.

Only a shell, you survived the war.

You’ve seen so much horror that you only wear a hardened expression.

Your eyes glisten but they’re depressed.

And cheekbones cut where you once had soft features.

Back home but you’re still at that faraway place.

Dreaming of the things once forgotten in the fog of war

Flashbacks haunt you at night; the bogeyman is there.

The only things you can hear are the wails of widows.

Their screams drive you insane as their voices grow louder still.

You’re refusing to get help because you are part of the few, the proud.

Lashing out and screaming out loud but no one hears.

Drywall crumbling, full of holes the size of bowling balls.

Alcohol is your new best friend because he listens and eases the pain.

Shot after shot, you drown your sorrow with the sting.

A slight grin is on your face as you see Beretta staring.

Now she’s right by your side.

Click.