Blood Stains

What is this I see dripping from my hands?
Awake or asleep itís always here
I still canít wash the blood off
Even after all these years
I scrub and scrub Ďtil my hands are raw
Itís the beginning and end of all my tears
Starting to remember what began
As uncontrollable, nightmarish fears
Stranded in the jungle or was it the desert?
On the high seas or in my mind?
My weapon red and smoking
Bodies all around is all I find
Shaking from the adrenaline
A hyper vigilant, fight or flight
Head to toe war induced high
I can feel the PTSD starting to bite
Moving and attacking
With the utmost stealth
No one could save them
So who can save me from myself?
The fight is over for us
For me it has just begun
Ever present, never ending
Personal war of one
Iím fighting a battle of body and soul
A mental war Iíve never known
Family and friends cannot see
The daily battles I fight alone
Itís a war of inches for turf, so to speak
Itís a battle for sanity I cannot loose
Not for the timid or the weak
A forced war which I did not choose
Psychological warfare
Against me, myself and I
Blood stained hands
Are the images burned into my mind
Try to distract
With music, paint and clay
After all is said and done
The blood still canít be washed away.

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