P.T.S.D. A living Hell

by | May 5, 2008 | Poetry | 0 comments

Living with P.T.S.D.
Is done by thousands even me

They say there is no cure
And after all these years of this I am sure

Most days I am oh so sad
I can not even function on some days, because it’s so bad

The things I have seen and done I cannot discuss
As there is noone that I trust

To keep the memories hidden from my mind, I became a workaholic
I’ ll never know why I didn’t become an alchoholic

I like to be left alone
After all I do feel all alone

Often I think of death
And look forward to my last breath

I often think suiside would be a way to go ahead and die
But have not tried, because with my luck I would not die

Try as I might with others to bond
I cannot because of memories I have from across the big pond

The only emotion I have is anger
And to say something to me on one of my real bad days, could put you in great danger

I often explode in rage
And it’s not getting any better, I think it may have something to do with age

Most things I cannot remember
But cannot forget the things I wish I did not remember

I go to meetings with others, who have P.T.S.D., every week
I go to find the peace of mind I so dearly seek

My marriage ended in disgust
Because of things I could not discuss

I don’t know if I can cope with much more of this misery and pain
Maybe I should just step in front of a train

Us, others may forget
But us, we will never forget


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