You want to laugh, you want to play,
you think this life, is all a game.
Like it's that easy.
It isn't that easy.
I occupy a lonely space,
filled with colors, good smells and taste,
we think we are happy.
It's the way it ought to be.
Turn around and make face-to-face.
Exit time - an awful place.
Feed, with me.
Take the time to deal, with me.
Spinning circles all in fun,
a simple game the world has won.
You are all alone, again.
Solidarity in the cold, my friend.
Open wide.
Free your spirit.
Lose your pride.
We are revolutionaries.
Let us scream from the mountain tops.
Smell the flowers and burn the stops.
We are.
Revolutionaries.
October 24, 2008
YOU ARE READING
Escaping A Post Traumatic Cell
PoetryMy story could be titled, "Trauma, an Epic." Break the cycle. Trauma only defines you, if you allow it to. I share my stories in hope it will help everyone who feels alone with PTSD / panic / anxiety / and childhood or adult trauma.
