Legs swing out and touch that pile,
not shaggy nor long,
but just, my little outstretched toes tickle
and tense upon tiptoes
as stumbling overtakes brain to
the bathroom, where the battle
for eye and lid wages anew,
mouth wider than a chasm as air
rushes inward, inflating my chest
and bulging eyes who cheer and cry
at winning their struggle,
open and raring to see whatever
is planned for consumption.

None can see the true battlefield
that stretches out a wasteland,
behind the eyes,
where brothers and sisters
fight mirrors continuously,
who they are fighting for or what
the prize is lost to the ages.
Senseless destruction of thought
and belief and knowledge behind
every volley of question, that launches
like barbed missiles, tearing into
structures rubbled.