The bullet hole looks so right in your head,
like it'd been missing all along.
The blood streaked across your face
like some twisted lover's deformed lipstick trace.
Staring at your reflection
wondering how you're still alive.
Wondering if she's somewhere laughing,
deciding whether to let you die.

"if one has to be scared to lead a decent life his weakness is obvious" (cit.)"I do not hunt freaks, freaks hunt me" (cit.)"Lady, – he whispered with concern, – your
eyes are so empty" (cit.)

"Skill is when luck becomes a habit".

"...War brings death... and wounds and pain to both sides... there's nothing harder to accept than the deaths of those you love... so you believe... they could never die... especially those who haven't known war... you try to find meaning in death... but... there's only pain... and hatred... that you don't know what to do with...dying like trash... neverending hatred... pain that never heals... that.. is war..." N.