Trigger Warning? Where do I start?
It gets better, but it never stops.
What I write; my whole life Is not for the faint of heart.
The knife stopped twisting, but the scars remain,
On my arms, my heart and my mind.
They heal but I still feel Every cut, every pain.
I don’t remember how many suicide attempts I’ve survived
Except that it was my favorite after school activity
From eleven to seventeen Poison laces any memories revived.
Suicidal memories have replaced suicidal thoughts.
It’s Russian roulette without a bullet.
There’s no pill for this ill but No Demons to be fought.
The trigger gets pulled and I fall to my knees.
Can’t breathe. Clutching my heart. Cloudy mind. Numb.
These tears are for fears That will never escape me.
Life progresses in either fast forward or slow motion,
Like life is passing by as reality constantly shifts
Triggering torment that I can’t forget Causing a caustic nauseous notion.
How the hell am I suppose to live with myself everyday
When the man in the mirror was my past potential killer?
I forgave him to save him But now what are we suppose to say?
It was Faith and fellowship that pulled me through
The proverbial fire that was my personal hell,
But it’s Grace and faces That pull my triggers too.
As much as I want to, I can never forget
All my short comings, how far I’ve fallen;
It’s combined with how high I’ve climbed It’s a problematic set.
So anything can be my trigger at any time.
I’m still learning how to cope with this post traumatic stress,
But every day proves another way That I can survive.
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