I haven't been eating, haven't been sleeping because I'm nervous, nervous all the time and my shaking body; not from the cold, but from the aftermath of the war going on mercilessly behind my never closed eye lids
Because
It's hard.
It's hard to say what's wrong is right because the truth that's sewn together with strands of glass hums a feeble melody whilst singing a song to which people say "I know what you mean",
I'm sure you know what I mean darling; but as if the screams that fall from my cracked smile were silent you do not hear, you do not hear what is so wrong about you believing the lies that those who ache to feel nothing; when they say "I'm fine" it is nothing but the sour taste of poison leaking through the disturbed peace of their shattered veins, when they cry the tears fall to no avail, not once is it seen for what it really is, for it is the battle between depression and hope that turns into a gateway of living hell, the markings of a knife staining their once clear eyes a sickening red. The messages sent between mind and heart openly bleed from their mouths and eyes, boring so deep into their skull yet you cannot see them, you cannot see the thoughts of cruelty towards their non believed body filled with haunting beauty; only darkness as the abyss of their once pure mind grows darker and drops deeper into the believed words of "you should die", because it's harder to run when the wind of your thoughts continuously push you back, when you want to flee from your mind but have no where to go because It always follows you.
You have the audacity to say you know what i mean, but how can you when i don't even know, myself?
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...
