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PTSD
Here we go again, reality is setting in, or is it?What is it?
It sometimes feels more like a dream, not the pleasant fairytale kind, but of the nightmare genre.
Gotta go back to ga-ga land, back to where Alice lives.
My way to cope, there's no hope there, but it's tolerable.
Stuporville, is better than that other world, the place that war dropped me off and deserted me.
I no longer have identity. I've been labeled shellshocked and crazy. Missing in action, left behind, a prisoner of war.
Another casualty, wounded, carrying a hidden, nasty scar forever.
Got DNA that says yep, that's him, but my friends don't recognize me, heck, I don't recognize me.
Has anyone here seen my old friend John, I just turned around and he was gone.
They say I'm getting better, time heals all, increase the zombie pills, make him fall, back to the future, but not the past, my world is spinning so so fast. What year is it anyway. Put him into therapy, with others like him, misery loves company you know. Maybe I should go back, find myself, or the part I left there. Does anybody care?Well I know my mother still does. I can tell by hugs that don't want to let me go, and tears that say" I know, I know". I hate to see her cry. Sometimes I wish I would just die. Spin the wheel, a one in six chance, this could be your very last dance. You got to pay to play though. Goodbye MIA, so long POW, tag me KIA. "Click", Uh-oh, here we go again, chased by madness and guilt, blood spilt, war is hell, do tell.
Reality is setting in, or is it?

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