Beneath The Surface; spoken word poetry; PTSD

I am a ship adrift on grim, turbulent waters, where each sound is thunder, each shadow a ghost. Memories are lightning, flashing bright and searing, leaving me blind and trembling.

I am a fractured mirror, reflecting pieces of a past I can’t escape. Each shard is sharp, cutting into my present, drawing blood from old wounds. Familiar places, faces, scents—they are the sirens of my mind, luring me back to places I don’t want to return.