What Is It? Poem by Francis Santaquilani

What is it about the war
That's making her ill?

It can't be the blood spilled.
I've seen her become
Aroused by the blood
On the lips of vampires
In movies and novels.

It can't be the violence.
The horrific weapons
And the gore in the games
She plays leaves a smile
On her face.

It can't be death.
The track marks on her
Arms, the needle marks
In between her toes and
The skull tattooed on her hip
Tell me she welcomes it.