And I'll Go To Bed At Noon

My brain cannot separate things like this.

It’s only human, dear, to, upon seeing a friend in pain and agony, cry out in sympathy and flinch deep in your gut.

The problem is, it’s only a show.

"It’s only a show" they say.

"He’s not dead, not really, though many others in this world may be…"

It’s not too comforting, but at least they try-

While I watch my comrades die on stage.

It’s a horrid sight for me.

Since my brain cannot separate things like this.