This is what war feels like—
Not a conflict of nations or political agendas
Waged in faraway deserts neglected,
With anonymous bombs falling overhead;
I am talking about the battle for a soul,
The desperate struggle to offer salvation.
After all this time, I still cannot prevaricate
And pretend I entered this war zone armed;
In fact, I was defenseless,
Helpless as a baby out of the womb,
And unprepared for the cost of bloodshed.
I scrambled when you unleashed your magic,
Reached out for any weapon I could find
To combat your dark god:
He you swear reverence to despite your repulsion.
I stood trembling before the monolith,
Wondering how I might ever conquer,
Ever slay such a beast,
But as I searched your eyes,
Beautiful even in their insipidity,
I realized you didn’t want him overthrown.
You prostituted your soul over and over again
For the mysticism he proffered,
Carving away a sliver of yourself with each transaction;
You are now a husk,
Depraved and possessed by this wickedness.
The malevolent deity that speaks in your voice
Is not you, but some perverse infection.
Tearful, I knew I could never conquer this spirit—
And had I arms to attack, I would have cast them off then;
And all the same, I fled the wasteland you inhabit
To safer ground, to wet your grave with my tears,
Because you’re not alive—
And because you have died, my love,
So have I.