PTSD

Lingering in the corner is a

small, scared version of me. She used

to be smaller, a speck inside me.

Now, her crying fills my

ears and her tears flood

my soles. She's

recalling

the tough

things,

urgent,

dangerous

situations,

memories of deceit.

She's reliving things I've

tried to grieve, but they remain

open and bleeding. I remain

vigilant, desperate for closure.