Do pulling bullets make you feel more of a man, as the pupils turn from blue to black
and the red of blood that filled their body pours out from every hole in their sphere.
How do you have the chops to play God, deciding who gets to live and kiss their loved ones,
While others are dug underground in a grave you laid for them.
How does it feel to pull that trigger, watching them fall from the sky
Flat on their faces in cold panic, the last person they ever saw was the face of yours
How do you have the nerve to play with nerves, skirting and flaying, playing with shocks and knocking everything that kept them alive and walking lifeless and gone.
How could you ever feel your piece of metal shows how stronger you are to any child who grew into the corpse you lay on the ground.
How does it feel to be so cold, to let emotions roll from those grieving and crying?
Eoghan Lyng is an Irish man and sometime writer. He lives in Glasgow, having written from the perspective from Cork, Madrid and Prague. He has written for OutlawPoetry, VadaMagazine and FromTheLighthouse.