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.

The End

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