Losing Language

“God help us all.”

These words I whisper whenever my throat isn’t full of ash.

Tonight I whisper it twice.

Because tonight we lost another.

My comrade, my friend.

They caught him,

soaked his camo in gasoline,

and dropped a match beneath his feet.

His bloody screams keep ringing through my head.

I watched him burn away.

I choked on the ash. Vomited. Choked again.

Out of hope and out of faith.

running out of words to say

running out of the desire to speak them

I tell them over the radio with halting words like toddler speech.

It’s over.