The Glory of War

WARNING: Contains high impact horror and mature themes. Discretion is advised.

A real man is a killer. Real men don't cry. Real men are warriors and protectors. Real men are expendable. Real men are sefless. A real man's feelings don't matter. A real man is a rock. Real men are cold.

Real men are so utterly, helplessly alone.

How many generations does it take for a man to just admit he isn't invincible? That his soul his bleeding? That the metaphorical rock that he is supposed to be has cracked, and he can't survive on his own?

How many men must take their lives before the world admits that this isn't healthy?