Hues of crimson, amethyst, orange, and gold
I had a dream. When I woke up, I penned this poem.
I just got out of the hospital last Wednesday
Triggers are stealthy. An image, a song, a smell, a flashback, etcetera, happen suddenly. Assaults are like bullets flying over my head. In that moment my whole world changes and it takes me time to readjust. PTSD often lingers for a lifetime. I wrote the poem below as […]
The confines of my paralyzed condition