6 May 2012
Men lined up to their deaths; facing the nadir of hell, waiting for the final command to plunge into it. I stand with them, cowering from the flames clawing me into its merciless abyss.
I wrench my eyes shut and feel my limp body slump onto the bank leading to the front line. Here, I lay in a surreal existence, a shield in which I'm stuck, in an unforgiving lapse of time. Veneered in mire, I face the war. I see it, feel it, smell it, hear it. But I am in no way involved. The ground surges beneath me as it prepares to propel me to my kismet. To launch myself, hands up, emancipated for the bloodthirsty guns to tear me apart. I drive my fingers and induce my face into the mud and weep, a violent howl. I cry for my life. I cry for my love. I cry for my home.
Fat Cattle To The Slaughterhouse Part: 1 • Opuss № I