Cold.
Shivering from the endless feeling of dread that pools around in waves of misguided dreams, shattered along with every piece and fibre of my being
Grinning.
From ear to ear does the grim grin place on my tear stained cheeks, kissed with the nothingness that I have become
Losing.
myself in the war torn waste land of my mind trying to stop the downward spiral that is my life, screaming until there is no sound left to be unheard
Forgotten.
Are the days of selfish pride and fortune to which I bid a farewell in the glass case that holds my broken heart, shards and shards filtering itself into the lungs of each and everyone poignant to my short existence whilst cutting the throats of those who will follow me to hell as their tissues become soaked with blood-ridden tears
Gone.
Are the days of familiar elegance and laughter for my eyes have hollowed to the bones of my desolate corpse, laying so carelessly upon the stone cage of which I call home
Tears.
Fall from your weary eyes to which I say no don't shed your tears for they are wasted, wasted on the unclear and pixelated image of my misshapen features
Fallen.
Have I become the very thing you dread to see in this nightmare that I call my own, to all of the rainfalls that are yet to come I bid you a farewell
I want to say that I'll see you in hell.
But we're already there.
YOU ARE READING
Poems by Someone With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. (PTSD.)
ŞiirPoems 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...
