i don’t write. i come. 3 months in hell, 2 attempts (both unsuccessful thank christ) and i’m finally happy again and they want me to put on a suit and revisit my demons again. finally back working again, feels good. greasy hands, tan arms, boots covered in 540 and paint and dust. found someone who is okay with my old sadness, comforts me. told her i was anxious tonight and she called me. what did you ever do? run away. damn shame. i guess she was right, you’re too young. but you’re a pretty girl you’ll find a nice guy and be comfortable. i don’t regret anything, without my past i wouldn’t be where i am today. these kids look up to me, it’s crazy. they see me getting showered with awards and respect from my chiefs and don’t know the horrible shit i went through/did to get to where i am today. they don’t know how big of a fuckup i was for so many years. “i really don’t like her” but darlin you wouldn’t’ve met me if it wasn’t for the heartbreak and selfloathing. ready to dedicate my life to protecting others, not an empty oath “enemies foreign and domestic.” the brotherhood forged in the fire of days gone with no sleep pulling men from briny grip, i can sleep at night knowing i’ve managed to yin/yang make up for my sins by doing some good. the Republic has given me everything, i owe Her my life. i can tell the kids that aren’t ready to die for Her yet. i don’t take them out with me. i’m ready to die for the Flag. every time we go out it’s understood. no one else can understand without taking the blood oath. i pray my brothers never have to spill blood for me but i know they would, and i know i would for them, so that others may sleep well at night. no newspapers, no tv interviews, i’ll strap up and armor down and so long as my woman at home sleepin tight with the rest of beautiful America i’ll rack 1000 hours with my hand on my shotgun and my face to the wind, sucking down offshore breeze and waiting for the day when She asks me for my blood. Amen, and fuck everyone.