Who Has The Time To Make Up Lies

Who has the time to make up lies

Day after day
Of having your space invaded
Your homes barged into by strangers with guns
The best of them leaving you alive after
They’re done
With their operation, the laughter
Mocking your indignities
As if each indignity weren’t mockery enough

Day after day
Rifles shoved in your face
That’s a good day
The smell of spent cartridges mixes poorly with insults
Shoot to cripple!
Checkpoints like gates to hell
From hell to hell
But if you dive, you gain the memory of hitting asphalt
As you bleed to death

Day after day
Of crying at funerals
That often become cause for more funerals
For some dead may not be mourned, they say
Someone said there’s no PTSD beacuse the trauma has no post
No post left standing to lean on
And then when the infection climaxes in a festering boil
It bursts and the pus flows
And that pathetic inflammatory response
Begets a brand of cowardice only the coward knows

So, who has the time to make up lies
When they can barely stay alive