So you want me to tell you about
The wounds you cannot see?
You want to understand
All about PTSD.
Me too!
It’s really hard to say
From many painful levels.
Sometimes I think, “Is this real?”
Or my own shameful devils.
Who knows?
The feeling tank’s on empty
Except for numb and angry.
Each day begins with worry,
Fear and panic make me weary.
Who cares?
Pour a whacked-out cocktail:
Two parts sore, two parts scary,
Two parts hidden, two parts horny.
Shake it well to keep life iffy.
Want one?
Most important, don’t forget
You have to hear what I can’t say.
When I tell you to go away,
Take my hand and say you’ll stay.
Please?