All of Their Faces

All of Their Faces.
My battery is dying, much like my hope for this dark, cruel place.
Watching everyone walk by, and seeing not a single familiar face.

It angers me so, ever greatly, to know that all I sacrificed was for not.
To think that more so than just for me, my fallen brothers have been forgot.

I find solace though, I must admit, in hearing the laughter of children playing.
It takes me away, for a moment atleast, for the children I am guilty of slaying.

For all the husbands, fathers, brothers, best friends and loving sons.
I slaughtered them without hesitation, to ensure each battle was won.

But no one warned me of this simple fact, no action ever goes unknown.
Now I live with the guilt of harming families, with sins I could never atone.

Here in my world now, bottles, prescriptions and alcohol alike.
Plague the floors, counters and tables; leaving my head in a constant spike.

Yet this pain I feel within my head, be it from drugs or drink or not.
Is far less than what I deserve, I know my soul is dead if not a rot.

And what more could the gods put up against me, I'm evil; the devils very own.
This is why drawings, of each and every one of their faces; clutter the walls of my home.
©jarnmarr