I am at war with myself.
With who I was, who I am, and
who I want to be.
And I am caught in the middle of the crossfire.
I am coming under friendly fire.
I am shooting at myself.
My own worst enemy.
Wounded at my own hand.
The blood on my hands is my own.
A stain that will never wash away.
This is my life, a battlefield.
Desolate and lifeless.
Living my very own stalemate.
Never gaining any ground,
never losing any ground.
I am dug in for the long haul.
I see no end to all of this at all.
The sky and earth are scorched.
As everything comes raining down on me.
I've no shelter, I live in squalor, up to my knees
in muck and mire.
This is where I am, with nowhere to go.
I am frightened by all of the noise.
Does it come from within or does it come from
This is my war.
I fight with myself.
Offensive after offensive.
It's never over for me.
I've forgotten what inner peace was.
I am trapped 'neath the fray.
I am blown apart.
I am torn apart.
My own flack and shrapnel pierces my soul.
I have grown so weary of it all.
I was the one who started it all.
I will be the one who will end it all.
There is no surrender for me.
As I come under another barrage.
Enough is enough, I've had enough.
But my white flag is stained crimson.
Stained with my own blood.
I am barely alive.
Life is ready to leave me.
Maybe then I will finally know peace.
I am overcome.
I am put asunder.
I have been lost.
I have run myself through with my own blade.
Now I lay dying, breathing in the acrid smell
I have been at war with myself for far too long,
an entire lifetime.
There is no victory, there is no defeat.
All is in ruin.
And the cost was high.
But I continue to fight with myself, even though
there's nothing left of me.
SCOTT DAVID BUCKLEY-(10/01/2013)