war plans on being alone

young men fight,

for meaning or otherwise.

a place to stand,

a way to be seen.

killing eachother,

for a sense of community.

or killing themselves slowly,

to develop empathy.

with their stones in hand,

theyll throw and scream.

theyll rip up those carcasses,

because in bloody flesh

there might be

something 

anything.

and young men

fall to hands they call their own.

to be perfect,

to be understood,

to never be alone.

in pills, and tears

in late night prayers.

holding their hands together,

is better than being no one

to them that seems fair.

young men kill,

young men maim.

ripping through themselves,

through others,

just to find their own name.

i was a young man once too.

Author's Note

i really dislike this one, its not polished how i want it to be