Bad trip by Brad Horton

Like the drugs of our older brothers acid hit of war Iraq strain Bad trips told like conquests, false empowerment of emotions orgasms while being raped and guilt wanting contact and to use CLS and our rifles to validate our trip we take it again, knowing we'll fry ourselves but we're already too far gone and need to take ourselves to the edge boredom wake up! fuck off wake up man! fuck off its my off day! nah man, we might roll Delta section got hit 3 bestfriends total, driver, gunner, gunner 7 in all, 1 of 2 favorite SSGs it was my old truck oh fuck Kemmer throws kevlar ohh fuck Platoon sergeant, the wind, the ghost, takes charge for once calls us together we took casualties 3 KIA, 1 WIA O-H-F-U-C-K tears grown men pounding fists into concrete wailing chaplain comes by with his fucking spanish accent that makes prayer sound like tongues Doc died en route to bird..4 dead now motherfuckers who never leave the wire walk by gawking at the Scouts battalion's badasses mourning their dead whom they will soon eat on blotter paper and in droplets we'll have flashbacks and see our own over and over and over got hit in Iraq on a hit of war Iraq war dropped by youths propagated by the government shadows like the drug it is and we are all addicted and we are all afflicted ~ Copyright © 2009 - Brad Horton Published: 4/30/09   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem