* The truth must be told*


 Imagine a place where your mind just drifts.
 Somewhere where the depths of your deepest fear meet the gates of hell.






Your tired, your hungry, but still you must press on.

The words you hear are just whispers in the wind.

You know if you make any sudden movments or close your eyes, You'll pass out.

You wish for death about the 5 month your there. You see no

need to shower, The layer of sweat that drips down your
back to your crack, has made a home. You wouldn't want to disturb it.

You nails bear the colors from the food the night before,

Your hair is matted from the dust and rain and wind, and the pain.

Your mental state you know is incorrect.

The sounds of the night haunt you until your use to it.

The ground shakes from the warfare weapons. You sleep right through it.

You know if your going to die, you might as well be comftorable.

 we have all written "the letter".

The one that reads. if anything is to happen to me.

You carry around your weapon and rounds waiting for an enemy to make a wrong move.

Sometimes your ready to kill and release, all the shit this counrty has made you go through.

You concentrate on money and cross out the days, hoping you'll make, is there a will, is there a way?

You dont want rewards, or compensation, you want home, you want the one thing you cant have, you want all the thing s you cant have.

and It sucks, because everything is out of reach. you began to be your best friend,

if you didnt smoke when you came, you do know, there's nothing to do except kill yourelf somehow.

 They tell you were safe and were all coming home, what a crock of shit, why dont you come out here!!!

I wish them all the best for I am not there now, I am always with them someway, somehow!

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