My therapy is chemical,
I go for weekly sessions.
My artery is femoral.
The site of my injection.
The venom attacks
the mitosis of my splitting cell.
Dyspepsia takes over,
like a spinning carousel.
"I want my Mommy.I want my Mommy",
I heard the young man cry.
That's how I made my living.
Watching young men die.
The boy had taken a bullet,
Right around mid-thigh.
It cut through his femoral artery.
Soon he'd bleed out dry.
I took my index finger.
I stuck it in the hole.
I tried to make a tourniquet,
But I couldn't find a pole.
I could feel his lifeblood pulsing.
I just couldn't make it stop.
As the bullets flew around my head,
I could hear the pop,pop,pop.
My rifles butt exploded.
It had taken a direct hit.
I found that I was thanking God.
I'd found my tourniquet.
I prepared the lad for transport,
To take him back to base.
When I turned around he was dead.
He'd taken three rounds in the face.
He was gone, so I moved on,
Amidst the constant cry.
That's how I made my living,
Watching young men die.
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