You keep running through the trenches,
Ignoring the dead beneath your boots;
Time trails silently behind.

It’s dark —
The world painted in shades of green,
Blood turns black,
Seeping from mangled bones
As you step over them.

You glance back.
Between twin flames of burning trees,
You see her —
Fading slowly into your essence,
Her hand in yours,
Guiding you forward.

Footsteps thunder across the earth,
Compressing the fallen,
Evading hidden mines.
What if your foot falters?
What pain awaits?
Will it echo the last death?
You look back;
Only distant darkness greets you.

Your refuge is gone.
You sprint towards shelter,
Thinking, “This could be the last bullet,
The last glimpse of her.”
Looking up,
Smoke carves through the clouds.
They will appear from nowhere —
Soon, there will be nowhere to hide,
No weapon to wield,
No body to shield.

What were you fighting for?
Life, law, justice? Love?
Was it worth it?
Can everything be valued?
Should these questions even be imbued?
Or should you return to your personal prison,
Not theirs?

In their confinement they thrive.
They nourish you well only to flay you alive,
Slice your throat to relish your bleeding,
Force drink down your mouth, tear off your eyelids,
Hand you a guitar, then sever your thumbs.
Would you endure that?
Is the answer so clear?

You push harder,
Feeling as if you are soaring,
Navigating the abyss.
Your legs numb,
Yet the earth slams against you,
Life fleeting between strides,
Taunting death with each leap,
Defying life from the high skies,
Until their eyes catch yours from afar,
A thousand hostile gazes converging,
Encircling you with cries — harsh, piercing, formidable.

The next thing you know is a blinding white noise.