I experienced war.

I had one job in war,

It was to provide comfort.

Bill used me for just that,

A little comfort to take the edge off.

I hated knowing that Bill used me for something that could very well kill him,

Possibly just as deadly as a gun,

But just without the quickness a bullet would provide.

It could be the time I ruined his future,

if he even made it out of this hellhole alive.

It was brutal seeing all those dead bodies

from my perch high up on a chest,

The slick look of fresh blood that stained the ground a deep crimson.

And hearing the deafening gunfire

that is slightly louder than the screams of the men who died.

Seeing the scared children and women.

The tore open teddy bear on the ground.

But in the middle of battle Bill needed a break

from the psychedelic-like effects of war,

A bit of energy,

A taste of home,

So I provided it.