Do Not Resuscitate

Raise your right hand and hold it high,

Don’t worry about a pen here’s a pin,

Wait for the blood to rise,

Then paint your name on the dotted line,

Leave it to dry with all freedom and rights far behind,

First they’ll shave you bald,

No longer a person just a number that’s all,

Then you’ll be assigned a bunk mate 60 heads but only 4 stalls,

One phone call home,

To tell the folks of the soul you just sold,

If tears start to flow go ahead and open the door,

Soldiers don’t cry they die tempted to taste the other side

Early in the morning before dawns daunting depravity,

Force fed to my feet face planted by reality’s sheer gravity.

Boots pound along the ground,

Eerily echoing in cadence abound,

Instilling a sense of pride unfortunately they lied,

After 5 years of wasted time the only thing that reside,

Is PTSD and pills beseeching my bed side.