Ever hear yourself walk away from your body?
The first sign of pitching a pity party—
a silent gathering of one.
You howl to your own pack,
seeking the emotional damages they left behind,
scars that overwhelm,
twisting your attempts at normalcy
into something foreign.
The simplest moments become warzones.
PTSD—a claimant that never rests,
forever presenting its case.
A scene, a memory, a fracture—
replaying, demanding to be heard.
Ever hear yourself walk away from your body?
Ever wonder if you’ll make it back.
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