Foot Soldier

by Lara

Distorted hope lies crystalline on the lake of your mind
Prehistoric figurines of laughter wrinkle throughout your ears
You are destined to become the foot soldier of melancholy sadness
Grip your pistol, finger entwined with the metal

Practice wondering about the future's profile
Drip out the curdled dreams that have faded past their expiration date
Question whether your past will hunt you down
Camouflage yourself in the costume of your faded glory

One two sickening moments, heavy air until you die
Bullet of time whips past you, the horse trips and falls
The foot soldier grasps onto the pistol
Cringing as he is hit by the twangy bullet