a river run red

We hear the woeful cries of those that squat and gobble, how we never see the good news from Iraq. They tell us that the media conspires against dear leader's noble cause. That it's freedom we hate and defeat that we crave. With chubby little fingers they point and they snide at every honest question as an attack from inside. Critical thought is for traitors and the truth is a whore, caught sleeping with the enemy in a time of illegal war. With every bit of venom in their snot crusted souls, they spin and they smear and they gild their sweet lies. To dissent is to give comfort, aid and succour to our foes. How dare we not confirm to what they pretend to know?

With fairy tales and yellow cake and never ending war, the pig folk gorge on spilling blood and squeal, they must have more. There can never be a substitute for the self righteous lust for death. Because pure failure is just victory that hasn't been declared. We're there to free those that they vilify, with every conservative breath. So salute the flag, support the troops and turn your backs on the wounded in want of care. Since when did we close the rape rooms, since when did the torture come to an end?

Riverbend alway makes me cry. This is the news we aren't hearing out of Iraq. These are the unvarnished stories from life on the ground in Iraq. Ruin and chaos, loss and fear painted in blood red, ghost white and corpse blue.