Lost
The hopelessness is complete. Day is no different than night.
The smell of death, sweat and fear are as accepted as breath.
The descriptions we were offered, the testimony of others of the hell we would face has fallen short.
We vow to ourselves that we are no better than those we have taken or lost, only lucky....And luck always runs out.
The smell of death, sweat and fear are as accepted as breath.
The descriptions we were offered, the testimony of others of the hell we would face has fallen short.
We vow to ourselves that we are no better than those we have taken or lost, only lucky....And luck always runs out.
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