The little boy soldiers rush at each other
With armor of mistakes and the pain of being alone,
Losing their only love,
Having their hearts torn from their chests.
They don’t use swords or shields,
Sharp tongues and well thought out excuses their weapons.
The older strikes first,
The first blow with the most dangerous weapon he has:
His words.
The other defends himself
Using ignorance and stupidity as a shield.
The battle continues this way,
Words and excuses,
Blows too difficult and terrible,
Deeper than any weapon could pierce.
After hours pass by in playland,
They still fight with all the energy they have left.
They fight until all energy has left them.
Both wait for the other to stand and fight,
Panting, sweating, huffing and puffing,
In agony.
They stand, knees shaking, hearts pounding.
They rush at each other,
More than mere words ready to come out.
Their blood is on my hands.