PTSD What Their War Has Done To Me
I'm twenty three and just back from their war
With no idea what I've been fighting for.
I've not been myself since I got back
Trying to live within a panic attack.
I know one thing for sure, that my family
Always have, and always will love me,
And I know that they can see that I
Have become a totally different guy
To the happy young man I used to be
Before I saw the things I came to see,
But no matter what they do or say
I still look with dread on each new day
Since my best mate died in Afghanistan
Blown to bits by the Taliban.
'Bad luck' they said that he had to die.
I've never let anyone seee me cry,
That isn't how a soldier behaves
No matter how many go to early graves.
So now here I stand, mentally torn
Wishing that I had never been born
Into this cruel, unthinking world
Where every time the flags are unfurled,
The politicians spout more lies which we swallow
Then we flock together as we follow
These Judas goats who lead the sheep
To slaughter and everlasting sleep.
Inside I feel I have reached the stage
Where the fires of hurt have begun to rage
Against what is left in me to fight the pain
Do I want to face this all again?
Another day with my best mate gone
Do I really want to linger on
Asking every time I awake
Why was it him not me they had to take?
I just feel I can no longer cope
Does the answer lie in this length of rope?
Tom Higgins 16/08/2013
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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