You must be an adamant person who carries their heart upon your shutter-speed sleeve
To meet the mind of a silently sitting portrayal, right by the exactitude middle

Here he attempts to stand with his bullet torn exterior, bordering on brain-boggled interior design – namely PTSD

There were no such allies way out there
And he wants… LONGS for you to silkily camera-capture his prioritised time

Quite visually

See/hear/listen/and closen in nearer nearby… for his sentimentally shot family do rightly believe…
that he was made for far better, less putrid appearing things
Way back when he held his broken-boned brother-in-friend – armed with guns staunched and dangerously bandaged by war sworn waist sides

tasting the posthumously atmospheric air because, my reminiscing readers, that’s where they were brutalistically digested atop promised to be sent

Never returned, really
Yet he rigorously attempts to try for a wry smile, and you WILL manage to capture imperfect-perfection either way meant to mean something gathered from Vietnamese-guided nothing

and stay…

and chat…

about normalcy this and laughably that thing he used to live and love called life