The tortured mind has a freakishly unique tendacy to suprisingly spring upon its unfortunate victim, and host, the random brutality of insignifcant rememberence...having already fought and killed those thoughts of past misdeeds. They tell us to engage and not ignore those events...for the purpose of healing and moving on with our lives...but I tend to find myself enjoying the chaos wreak upon my mind whenever death comes a'calling.
The first time I saw a dead body, my mind tried to subplant the horror of death's vision with the mundane recollection of senseless emptiness and mockingly familar figures of emotional neglect.
I mean...once you see something dead, you really begin to realize how cold and non-evasive death is upon the mind of a modern-day military warrior. No up close and personal events to connect you to that humans remains, having bestowed the hammer of god upon them from some distantly safe fire position...your mind never makes the personal connection, unlike the death of a family member or friend.
When it comes down to it...all those horribly torn and tattered bodies were simply empty vessels of souless flesh...disposable and unremarkably dead.
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