I found out with why I couldn't make you smile; I remembered the chaste kisses they placed upon your burning lips as they whispered sweet hymns of arrogant selflessness, oh what you wouldn't do to return to the days of promised beginnings that soon fell ill to the remains of your plastic heart; I know now why you don't smile, it's only because when they left you they took away your voice, along with your charred lips; for fear of a come back would lay still I'm the dead reverie of these pointless nights, no is how you remembered what they did; what they've taken is your smile- and now there is nothing left.
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...
