Oh, at the demons that dwell in my mind
they whisper to me of times gone by.
Of horrors survived and wrongs re-lived,
they taunt and tease that I should die.
My brain is flooded with painful memories,
my body remembers every bruise and abrasion.
The why's and what for's have long since faded,
but the pain, terror, and heartbreak affect me still.
This is an ugly dance my demons and I perform,
for years may go by without a single note in play.
Then when I least expect it, a song, a word, a phrase,
will send me back through time and lock me in that place.
And so the dance begins again on shards of glass so sharp
each step a new scar to add to the collection of battles won
Or a slide into oblivion as old scars rip open deeper than before.
Surviving trauma does not stop when the incident stops,
the fight is one that will last the rest of your days.
Some days you will stand tall atop the bones of your past
other days you will be buried alive by those very same bones.
There is no victory because the war never ends.
There is only survival, nothing more.