Wednesday, May 29, 2013

A Battlefield

When the clock strikes one
A glock will go off
The cold plastic in his hands
Black and heavy with command
It manes his enemies no matter the distance
He is not considered the most fittest
Instead of running around
He trains his fingers and lounges
When he hears a clang
He screams at his gang
Friendly fire was turned on
Now he waits to respawn

I recently bought Battlefield 3 and believe it was the inspiration for this. As I was mowing down people online with a pistol from long distance, it helped me visualize this poem a little better. Games can be fun, but I don't know if I'd every shoot a real gun.

I hope you enjoy!

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