Mercenary

lone man stands on the hill invisible demons picking at his will reminding him of times he’s killed showing him of the last time he will lonely soldiers in unknown graves left to rot for untold days they fought not for honor or for hate but for paychecks day to day hoping, pleading, praying still for the souls of those they killed the old man stands his eyes are glazed burning madness torches his veins losing hold of all his ways the demons show him of the kill the demons give him back his will his life was his to take another lonely soldier unknown grave