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I'm tired today and my wings are naked. the cold air
is going through my hands and i can't fly. not
today... and there are story's i could write and there
are worlds i want to see and offer them to everyone
else just like before when i used all of my energy for
dreaming. i had a lot of fuel back then and i could
still hear the beating sound of my heart. it sounded
like war drums and the world was my battlefield where
i joined hands with the likes of me, barely knowing
where to stand or to begin. we fought the wars and
walked on children's corpses. the price was set to
high from the start and the goals were imaginary. To
think we could win was the biggest illusion of them
all, a mixture of dreams and nightmares. but still we
stood tall in the valleys and on the mountains,
holding our guns hi in the air, where only birds could
take them away from us. and still, we managed to get
blood on them. we didn't hold them hi enough... and as
our flesh endured the mysteries of our imaginary
battles our family cried each evening holding the
pictures of their lost children. it's not the war that
changes people; it's the experience, its the
adrenaline that rushed with your blood, forcing you to
go further, bolder, better to places you never would
go. and when the first guns shoot blasts through the
air and makes a lasting scar, the sensations calm down
for a brief second as they are gathering it's
strength. i'm tired today, as i killed to many people.
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