You ask me what is wrong,
When you see the explosions behind my eyes,
Staring out at a landscape that's not there.
Hearing gunshots that aren't there,
And screams of men long dead.

I brush it off sometimes,
Coming to,
Seeing the concern in your expression,
And I know that I can't lie,
But sometimes it's just too much for me to tell you,
Some things just too painful to share.

Some of it is to protect you,
Some of it is to protect me,
From that awful time in that awful place,
Where peace was so hard to find,
And impossible to see.

Sometimes I can tell you parts,
The parts you could understand,
But others wouldn't make sense to those who weren't there,
Like getting anxiety of having to get into a 110 degree porta-john to ***.

The row of medals

divert people's attention --


from his worn-out suit.

20 Cents
The guy gave the war concern 20 cents
This was enough to buy ten bullets
Which would **** ten enemy soldiers
If fired accurately by a good soldier
He'd give more if he could afford it
But he was jobless and skint
20 cents was all he could afford
Bread and coffee cost money
Even if cheaper thru the VA
His benefits were little not enough
So he just gave 20 cents
To the war collection team
When they knocked on his door
It brought back memories
Vietnam and Central America
Plus other deniable places
Still alive in his head
He didn't like Russians
So 20 cents was fine
The cost of ten bullets
For a competent soldier
He prayed they wouldn't miss
Once he was a soldier
With many good kills
All of them Russians...

Hidden deep in the galley at sea far from the front
Washing pans and floors and sometimes onions
Never a shot fired at nor its distanced boom heard
Now proudly badged, poor, unemployed, a veteran
Strutting in the town square openly carrying
Seeing fear and respect in mocking eyes
And gratitude in sneering smiles and sarcastic lips
But utter despair and pity to those that truly loved
Now old, lonely, far from those who once cared
Sharing truths on the net when away from Facebook jail
And calling out fake news with evangelistic fervour
But touch Trump, and even jihadists cow before his ferocity

i used to have this
friend
we would go outside
during the days
after the bell

one game we played
was kind of like
hunting
except it didn't
feel natural

lizard brains
were easy enough
to catch and ****
without a second
thought

we would stuff their
mouths
with explosives
then find and burn
the remains

until that time he
accidentally blew off
his own hand

We had an enemy we didn't understand
We had an ally we couldn't rely on
All we had was each other
All we had was our brotherhood
All we had was our rigorous training
We were baptised in fire and violence
We were sunk in cruel unrelenting combat
We struck back like Hammer and Anvil
We kept hope in a nightmare paid with blood, sweat and tears
Some of us left without a beating heart
Some of us made it but forgot how to live
Some of us turned our scars to success
However those left of us that have managed to survive...
We all feel as if we're standing in the centre of a Burning House