I win

You lose

Shattered me to pieces
But the splinters went for you

You pulled the pin and threw me
Making a grave mistake
You thought that I had left
But I was still loosely in your grasp

So the weapon you would use to
Smite your friends and foes had
In your hands

Blast wave shocked
Through your cocksure form
With the sparks and pieces
Flying out from the deceased

Your battle fatigues
Stained with a gleam
Of black powder and
Hot-blooded thoughts

When the grenade you used
For a cause of doom
Bit the master
It was fed by

In the trenches far away
From the rest of your platoon
Just another foxhole in the daze
Of suicidal tendencies

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