Grey I am,

Grey I have become,

This relentless battefield makes me feel so numb,

As I put on my gas mask one more time,

I put on a performance like a mime.

Emotionlessly I grab my gun,

And yet my sorrow is never done.

With a pull of my trigger I kill a man,

I try not to let my mind get to me as hard as i can.

"Why do I do this?" I question myself,

This brutal war is not good for my health.

I cringe at the thought of performing open fire,

If only my commander were an irrational liar.

I begin to consume these thoughts of war,

I grow a lack of emotion, warmth, and more.

This cannot be me,

This cannot be who I've become,

How could this war make a man feel so numb?