They wiped me off every night after going out to fight.

To clean off the dry blood from a 30-year old.

Or maybe he was 15.

They all start to look the same after a while.

They wiped and wiped as hard as they could,

But sometimes the stain is too much to erase.

Sometimes I thought that they want to leave them there as a reminder.

That they did something right that day,

That they made a difference for their family at home,

And the country that they're fighting for.

Or at least that's what they tell themselves.

I don't know if they realize that I'm still in the room because they start crying.

They start begging God to forgive them,

To show them that they are doing the right thing.

They take a sip of something out of a clear bottle.

But then sips turn to gulps

Then turn to guzzles,

One cup after another,

Cups turn into bottles,

Until...

They're empty.

Both the bottles and them.

Sitting,

Waiting,

Wanting it all to go away,

Thoughts running rampant.

Thoughts growing louder.

Emotions exploding,

Bottles flying,

Sins staining their freshly grown Angel wings.

They screamed as loud as they could,

“God, please let all of these thoughts go away!”

Bang

A loud noise was heard.

Followed by a thud.

Then blood rushing towards me,

Staining me more,

I'm still not sure if it was them or not.

Like I said,

After time they all look the same.