PTSD: poetry

I saw the white line first.

Then the purple haze

Lavender I realized

31 lines I memorized

The edges sharper on the right side.

I ran my finger over the center

So smooth as if it had been glazed.

Here I lay

In my daze

Staying focused on the shell

In my hand

To keep me from remembering

The scars from man

3 thoughts on “PTSD: poetry

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