The castle kingdoms fall from skies, at the aftermath of the war we fought—
the swing of the tounsils; the art of war, the fog-of-war was our kinsmen, in the form of a shield to bloat out our enemies…Little did we know that there was no war, for our minds were laying siege to everything around us.
Our gunfire was at our own livers, our sword thrusts pierced the frozen mirror in front of us; bleak, desolate, like when the dystopian takes full circle–
like when we lift our heads; a soldier of war breaking from the thousand-yard stare, and–
all around us lies only our own destruction.