Do you know
What it's like
To look through a mirror
And want to cry
To kill your passion
and all you dreams
That pretty face
Isn't what it seems
The happy smiles
And all the laughs
Make up for lost time
And painful stabs
Of a broken heart
Clean in two
Three words unspoken
"I love you"
With the knife
Such pain it holds
Along with the blood
Of the taken souls
The souls it has taken
It's easy to see
That this knife I carry
Will be carrying me.
YOU ARE READING
Poems by Someone With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. (PTSD.)
PoetryPoems are by me. Inside this interweb book is an abundance of fear, pain, anger, depression, and emptiness. It is not much, it may not be anything, but it is who I am. You may get to know me, if you really try. Even so, you may read if you'd like. S...
