PTSD

[Justsomedude]

Neck deep in the

unseen rubble.

Burning up in some

internal fire.

Drowning in the white

waters of his own rage..

He stared a vacant

stare that could never

give light - only drink it

like a barren desert

growing desperate

for a few drops of rain..

That kind of fearful,

disgusted stare can

only look inward

toward the stinging

remorse and

distorted memories -

never peering out into

the suger-coated

sub-reality (the

monotonous practice

of day-to-day living) -

his vision obscured by

the traumatic scenes

of a nightmarish movie

playing in repetition -

bearing down on his

consciousness and

becoming all the more

vivid and consequential.

The contrast of her

soft-spokenness seems

to mock him - and so

his rage is misplaced

far from her favor.

[Hidden]

Imagines with my happy childhood play in front of my eyes. When time passed and I grew up I was more and more unhappy, with physical manifestation of depression and anxiety. Today I'm lost in this life, feeling that I missed my purpose somewhere in the road of life. Many of you said that we should concentrate on present not on past but the past is the one which define us and in present we have nothing to like, to love, to enjoy.

[mrmonk]

I get a kick out of seeing parantheses in poems for some odd reason -- I do it myself, sometimes -- and here it is done to good effect, as it relegates the "sub-reality" of our daily lives to subtext (literally).

I know PTSD is one of the issues you're grappling with, so I hope writing poems like these is helping you to cope, or offers some sort of catharsis, at least.

One really gets the sense you're working through something important to your recovery here. Keep at it, dude.

[Justsomedude in reply to mrmonk]

Thanks, man. It does help me cope. It's an outlet, for sure. It just helps me in expressing my thought patterns and emotions which is huge because they're so real and symptomatic, yet hidden under a worn appearance.