Casualties of War

We stand at a stalemate,
While you are a stale mate.
But my gun wasn't raised,
And your bullet only grazed my cheek,
And the blood swims in tears down my face.
Your butcher's knives shave away at me,
An eye,
An ear,
My mouth.
I can't even find the right words,
To raise my tattered white flag.
Enemies stand,
When a short, icy blast of hate,
Forms my limp hands
Into curled fists.
Separated by an ocean of blood,
That peels my skin with its salt,
I am finally flayed raw.
In time I will be fixed,
But our casualties of war
Cannot be healed.