Category: #PTSD Poetry
-
The Broken Subconscious
The Broken Subconscious Dreams I can’t control, outcomes I don’t recall, My broken subconscious staggers Like a gunfighter who drew late, Blood spurting from bullet holes I didn’t know existed While a stranger asks for directions. My glazed look must not have been reassuring– He’s not going the way I suggested, If, indeed, this ever […]
-
PTSD Poetry: Last Wash
Last Wash Last Wash, 9 p.m., One command too many. Life shouldn’t be rigid at 9:15 p.m. Unless someone wants to kill you. My tired fingers stiffen with dirty clothes Raised above the washer. I look around before letting go. Someone comes behind me. “Power shuts off at 9:45 a.m, done or not.” I respond […]
67Steffen.com 