A single rest

in literature •  6 years ago  (edited)

My eyelids are open, They are two windows without insurance.
My eyes red because of the smoke.
My hands trembling at the beat of the shots.
My feet sore from the rain and mud.
My weapon loaded with the rage of my people.
My fear and my rage reflected in my mouth.
My body placing the impacts of bullets.
My eyes close ... I do not feel anything .... My heart stops and my mind goes out.

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