02-17-06 - 02:55
"I was bruised and battered and I couldn't tell what I felt
I was unrecognizable to myself
I saw my reflection in a window
I didn't know my own face
Oh brother are you gonna leave me
Wastin' away
On the streets of Philadelphia
I walked the avenue till my legs felt like stone
I heard voices of friends vanished and gone
At night I could hear the blood in my veins
Just as black and whispering as the rain
On the streets of Philadelphia
Ain't no angel gonna greet me
It's just you and I my friend
And my clothes don't fit me no more
I walked a thousand miles
Just to slip this skin"
Bruce Springsteen
I looked at my self in the mirror. I don't know who I saw. I know the scars, but the rest was unfamiliar. I don't know who I am anymore. I spend too much time drunk. I don’t want to face my own past. But I can’t turn away from it. I have flashes of things from the past.
Sin. What is sin? To take a father, brother, a son from anyone must be sin. Sin has become my right hand. A hand that sent judgment to all I saw. Who am I to play god. I am but a man, flawed and broken. But I was handed power to take life. A power no one should have. I didn't abuse what I was given, but I acted on my orders. How am I different from a murderer? I can’t find a difference. The worst part is that I will most likely go back to the army soon. It is the only thing I have ever been good at. I wish for death but will not take it from myself.
