It was on a Thursday night
I had school the next day
It was during winter break
And I was up late at night
I was playing video games
I still remember everything
I was playing survival mode
On a map called resistance
I was on round seven or so
In the back corner of the map
You sent me numerous texts
Then I had paused my game
We saw it was getting tough
And then you called it quits
It truly was very tough at first
We still talked and it got better
Then one random day it stopped
March 17, you stopped responding
I continued to try to talk to you
But you just never responded
I sent hundreds of messages
With not one since that one day
Not one response since then
Even through all that I had done
I had numerous sleepless nights
Comforting you until you slept
I put your safety before my own
Even after we both broke up
It meant nothing to you though
I'm just a lost cause in the past
Nothing important in your life
To you, forgotten memories
To me, just distant memories

I am the stillborn son of war,
Strapped on to an unmanned chariot of unrealized dreams;
Ever Since I was born as the heir ,
To the twin kingdoms of hypothetics and hypocrisy.

I am a silent sculpture,
Of the broken skeletons of sorrow,
Nourished by the blood of the vanquished,
And meant to unite the mourners on the banks of defeat,
Under a common cause.

I am an unopened letter of sympathy,
Waiting,
For the last tear drop on the armor of the vanquished to dry .
I am the final abandoned fresco,
Fading to obscurity;
As it graces the crumbling walls,
In the Chapel of fallen hopes.

I am the moan of the heart ,
Where the echoes of my prophecy,
Have greeted celebrations of existence,
Long before I was born to die.

I am the chant.
Immortalized.
Immorralized .
By the reverend voices that preached ,
From the pulpits of divine demagogues.

I am the invincible myth,
Inheritance of abstracts afar,
For I was christened Peace ,
The stillborn son of war.