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Trained for Dying

crawling on my belly
as low to the ground
as one could get, my crotch
poked by rocks, camouflaged
by fatigues and mud
like a chameleon, but slithering
more like a salamander, glistening
beneath the tracer fire above,
and live rounds like tornado bees
whizzing by my ears

I am beneath a web of barbed wire,
the kind no spiders
would make their traps,
but a trap it is,
the heavy helmet scrapes it,
the only visuals you see
is dark grass fervently tickling
at the nose, and puddles…
I know there is a goal to this,
some sort of finish line,
but, it seems miles away,
what destiny awaits dragging by fear
and tense-pained shoulders,
crawling, ever crawling…
I know I am already dead
even if I make it,
the M50 blazes like a mad
and chattering epileptic,
foaming smoke in the air
like a fog of the mental
fixation, but, without euphoria,
incessant and demanding
my death,
an instantaneous pride,
once it is all over,
having finished the brutal course,
and, a realization comes over me,
that no matter what side you are on
you are the enemy….

Trained for Dying

mychaelalchemy

Binghamton, United States

Artwork Comments

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