PTSD 4

The motherfucker

Aims at my chest

A jet black revolver

Designed for death

*

I duck behind my car

Fear locking me in place

I don’t know this asshole

But he means to do harm

*

As he walks around the front

I pull a knife out of my belt

And stalk him around the rear

Moving swiftly, silently

*

I stab him in the neck

Once, twice, thrice

He does not drop his gun

Instead he turns around at me

*

He laughs, hand on his wounds

And proceeds to blast into me

Bullets tear through my waist

And finally into my brains

*

I stare at the light green wall of my room

These thoughts will not go away

It’s three in the morning now

My imagination will not let me sleep

*

So I pick up my laptop

I write poems and stories

And in those moments

I am free from terror

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