I've returned from the cyclone
Not quite intact
These images are haunting me
Every time I close my eyes.
No patience for people
Their ways take me under
I erupt in fury far too often.
My arms are a Jackson Pollack
My face in the mirror a Salvador Dali
I'm trying the best I can.
The doctors throw cocktails of drugs
my way,
I don't remember who I am
or care to even try
Your either against me or on my side.
I've been hurt too many times
My eyes are likely to swim to the side
I'm dizzy
I'm dumped
My days are too long
My nights are too strong
You think you've got it rough
A little empathy, please
Think of what it's like
to be me.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
I've returned from the cyclone
Not quite intact
These images are haunting me
Every time I close my eyes.
No patience for people
Their ways take me under
I erupt in fury far too often.
My arms are a Jackson Pollack
My face in the mirror a Salvador Dali
I'm trying the best I can.
The doctors throw cocktails of drugs
my way,
I don't remember who I am
or care to even try
Your either against me or on my side.
I've been hurt too many times
My eyes are likely to swim to the side
I'm dizzy
I'm dumped
My days are too long
My nights are too strong
You think you've got it rough
A little empathy, please
Think of what it's like
to be me.
Not autobiographical, dedicated to all those who suffer from past trauma and Post Traumatic Stress, healing is possible.
