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Waiting
Sitting.
Waiting.
Watching.
I can hear my breathing as loud as thunder
and my sweat drips into a pool of anguish.
My short hair blinds the path my eyes make
as my nerves cause an earthquake in my body.
The inch thick mud on my face cools me down,
but their ugly uniforms heat me up again.
The blood drips down my lip
as my head pounds.
And then I watch as the blood drips down from their chests
as the knife of my rifle pounds through their hearts.
