oh, darling, is this supposed to be a rebellion?

you know, i'm certainly not shaken

the sting from the back of your hand across my flushed face

only caused a stare, not a stir

i can look at you; why aren't you even looking at your own war victim?

it's a pitiful rebellion when it relies on violence

i, myself, only get uneasy when there's real words after so much silence

but you're to expect this from a coward who pretends to be pulsing with rage when they're really just shaking from fear

and then you crawl to me, desperately, as if you were shot in battle

you offer me freedom, your honors through golden pins and colored patches

and it's as if i'm wearing a shirt i've bled in before

your heart is as bruised as mine, keep your purple heart

i walk away from these explosions that leave a ringing in my ears

i bandage my wounds and relive such trauma

i am not worthy of your freedom, it has a cost i can't afford

so i leave this battle field, searching for my own