Scarred Scorched Desolate Dead Grave Gory It was a war. The battlefield remains aflow with blood, trickling through the trenches then overflowing the earth. Lakes of blood run through the scars of the battlefield, trying to cover up such devastation. Is it bad to feel pain? Is it bad to hurt? Is it bad to be upset? The future is scary. The future is unpromising. The future is...bleak. Would a kiss make the scars hurt less? Would compassion make a smile wide? Would the scars of this war vanish? Would the blood stop flowing out and heal? Would a smile really stop a war? This war is agony This death is devastating This end is saddening This world is pain This...isn't life. This is a battlefield.
Poetry is a battlefield, and there is more than one type of bullet! Try switching up your ammo from time to time.
Also, I recommend desertion in this case. You may get court marshalled but it's way better than this.