The blackness of night screams alive.
Voices shouting from the deepest place
buried away in my scarred mind.
Flashbacks,
and the penny taste of blood keeps me awake
dragging and twisting my exhausted
body and psyche further away from sleep.
Liquid of life burns through my veins.
I feel it flow knowing those under the sheets
lined up on sides of streets were left cold.
The smell of blood is thick tonight.
It persists on the hands of any soldier
long after arriving back home.
I swear I leave ****** finger prints and
stray scatters of crimson spatters all around.
The secrets I keep
are starting to drip
slowly out of me.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
The blackness of night screams alive.
Voices shouting from the deepest place
buried away in my scarred mind.
Flashbacks,
and the penny taste of blood keeps me awake
dragging and twisting my exhausted
body and psyche further away from sleep.
Liquid of life burns through my veins.
I feel it flow knowing those under the sheets
lined up on sides of streets were left cold.
The smell of blood is thick tonight.
It persists on the hands of any soldier
long after arriving back home.
I swear I leave ****** finger prints and
stray scatters of crimson spatters all around.
The secrets I keep
are starting to drip
slowly out of me.
This poem is about PTSD.
