Sometimes she just shuts down, a
Blank look entering her eyes when
It all becomes too much to handle.
Her shoulders stiffen, and her mouth
Is a set, stern line, unforgiving.
Her face is cold and bleak, an arctic
Wasteland where you were expecting
A prairie. She's not in control anymore,
Her brain just issuing simple commands,
As auto-pilot takes over her body and mind,
Reducing the casualties of a war made entirely
Up of pain and how much suffering
You can withstand before you give up.