Kill it!

For us, the ones who kill
Days and nights, evening and mornings,
As we fight imposed wars,
Without weapons and commanders,
What does happiness mean?

Does it mean a bad day,
Among our lot of worse days?
Or is it a more breathable one,
Amidst our routine during which we choke,
But refuse to die?

Is it a pint of beer,
Which we have it with cheer
Instead of guzzling down whiskey
To kill our every day fear.

Is the smell of revenge,
Our kick to be happy?
The thought that one
Day when tables will turn
You’d ensure each drop of
Blood and sweat is settled.

For us the failed warriors,
Happiness is just a desire
The one which we know
Wouldn’t embrace us,
As we drool over it
Killing our dreams, passions, self.