People cry and they mourn. People hurt and they suffer. They watch the sun rise and explode in sickly shards on the daylight embers, they treat each other like they don't matter. They beg and they please, they cheat, lie and steal, they live to keep living. Children cry for their mothers, a fawn in a meadow, the world cries.
I am bathed in the slimy guts of the disemboweled, bodies strewn on a battlefield, the smoky vapors and craters, the groans of agony and knife-stuck daughter, I slit each throat like an indifferent surgeon. Bombay cats prowling around and bristle at each barbaric yawp. Witch eyes. A child will always cry for its mother. I cry for war.