literature

I'm Not Here

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Literature Text

The voices call out, but they’re so far away;
Everything so familiar yet so foreign at once.
I can feel myself start to slip and I start to lose my grip,
It’s the same old game I’m tired of playing.

I’m out the door and down the hall,
Trying to find any trace that I’ve been there at all.
But the pictures fade together and
The faces blend into one and I’m not here right now.

My body is in the present but my mind is in the past,
Jumping forward and backward like a scratched up disc.
The line between reality and fiction is blurred,
And I’m afraid I don’t know what’s real anymore.

Take my hand and hold it tight,
Keep me grounded while I battle this fight.
It’s a losing battle against my mind,
And I’m afraid that I’m running out of time.

As the end grows nearer and nearer,
And the visions become clearer and clearer;
I slip away to a place you can’t follow me to,
And I’m not here anymore.

Don’t be sad that I’ve gone away,
This is my life and it’s ending one second at a time.
I won’t be gone for long, seconds for you;
But it’ll be days, hours, minutes, seconds for me.

Time means nothing when fear controls your life,
And the people in it are privileges, not promises.
The memories taste bitter like stale coffee,
A bad after taste like love being dishonest.

Sometimes the memories are good, mostly bad;
And I’m like a tape sometimes stuck on reverse.
All the people and things I never wanted to see again,
I don’t know what I did to be blessed with this curse.

Take my hand and hold it tight,
Keep me grounded while I battle this fight.
It’s a losing battle against my mind,
And I’m afraid that I’m running out of time.

As the end grows nearer and nearer,
And the visions become clearer and clearer;
I slip away to a place you can’t follow me to,
And I’m not here anymore.

I’m not here any more.
Comments8
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RMS-OLYMPIC's avatar
:star::star::star::star::star-empty: Overall
:star::star::star::star::star-empty: Vision
:star::star::star::star-half::star-empty: Originality
:star::star::star::star-half::star-empty: Technique
:star::star::star::star::star: Impact

This poem is exceptionally deep, and that's what I like about it. I have always liked poems, stories, etc. that talk about a different side of life a lot of people want to stay away from, because it can be dark, or sad, or it just scares them because it is real. I have read a great deal of stories about men and women who have served in war, or been in some very tragic situations, and they have PTSD, but they are so often misunderstood. People think it's 'all in their head', and they're fake. It IS in their head, but it is real. Although I have never been in such a situation that would cause this, I can really feel for people that have this. Life must seem like a nightmare sometimes, because of flashbacks, and things that never go away completely. And it doesn't help when there are so many people who don't understand, or people who simply don't choose to understand.

Due to the fact I know there are likely hundreds if not thousands of other poems and stories written about PTSD, I have given the Vision, Originality, and Technique a smaller rating, but what hit me the absolute most was the impact. Reading this makes me feel like I am right there... like I am you and seeing this through your eyes.

It's hard to read, but you made it beautiful through your words.