Because I'm too much of a chicken at the moment, I'll just post this here where some of you can read it. If I feel less like poultry by next Thursday we'll see what happens.
I lost my mind, thinking I'd left them behind. My brothers. Only to discover to my dismay that my mind shipped out with them only to leave this shell behind. Like pencil on paper, I feel erased, a waiting canvas but there is no artist here. So while I bid my time waiting for delicate touches and strokes that life brings, only they learn how to wash it away and listen my brothers: I'm sorry. Sorry for the things you must do, sorry for the love you may lose. I am sorry for the bitterness you may now carry for me.
Bitterness is all I feel while my time hasn't come, left behind, incomplete only with the company of our sisters. There is much love to be true and strength they say is me too. But strength do I have without my brothers?
While they dodge IED's, I have to suffer at home with a different kind. I sit and write with an improved educational device and find that there is only slight comfort in the words I pull from the mind that left me. Where are my brothers to read such words? Despite words of individuals ensuring destruction, I write to fill this mindless shell with the colored art of my words until it cannot be contained and the explosion of freedom and expression engulfs, overwhelms, and makes me whole again. I am sorry, my brothers. Those will not be the last words given on a dying breath, shuddered with the soul's release. Brothers. Sisters. I have found I am amazed by incapacitating emotional devices. Both my own and works of others that would make and break us ensure that my wait to join you is not in vain.
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