"Everything is fine." The sound of his voice barely carried over the sniffling of his nose. Tears streamed down his face. He did not wipe them.

"It all goes away. It all goes away." The mantra of the afflicted.

"It wouldn't have to go away if you didn't fucking start it in the fucking first place!" He argues with himself. Borderline schizophrenic in his attempt to justify the pain in his heart.

He drops to his knees on the floor and holds his hands over both of his eyes. The tears feel cool on his palms. They stay cool until they reach his forearms. It is at this point on their relatively short journey from his brown eyes to the floor that they start to sting his skin. The wounds are still fresh.

"My Father, forgive me. I am weak. I am not the soldier that I wanted to be. I am not the strong man who glorified your name. I am weak. I am so sorry for breaking your heart, my God."

Black. Cold. The ground feels comforting.

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