for twelve years now
for two people,
there's a war that's been waged by the feeble.
in your mind
it's your son's fault,
not the birth of a dual action hate vault.
blood red sunset
every sunday,
to mark death of emotion between us,
but in your eyes
it's not worth it,
to give up, admit defeat or [bad word] of your forces.
we've been talking
in circles,
what was once blue has bled itself purple.
we're now silent
towards each other,
guessing words in white text that form footnotes on our screens.
we can't change the destiny of others.
we aren't soldiers but we've waged this war, now we'll live to fight again.
we've fought for life so much in this place,
we've shed so many tears in distaste,
for each other and my taste buds have moved on.
(we've shared these lives, 
now we're stricken by conviction and biased threads of time.)
we can't change the destiny of another.
we aren't soldiers but we've waged this war, now we'll live to fight again...
...and we torture ourselves outside of these guided lines,
replacing what might be with what has never been.
twelve years of pure aggression,
an absurd angst obsession,
until finally we line ourselves inside these shadowed holes.