Trauma,
The agony of memories missed,
Locked in an invisible vault
Until the end of time.

Amnesia, Fantasia,
The thoughts that were once my own
Have lives of their own
And left on their own.
They have lost their succor
And their sweet, sweet sorrow.

I have been cut off from the world,
Detached due to miasma;
A toxic fog
That melts minds to plasma.

The former identity is gone;
Only an empty shell remains.
To recall the past is to inflict great pain.

I have lost my flavor;
My most recent dream is to savor
The husks of a life partially forgotten.
The blank spots have robbed me of nostalgia;
I can only look back and repeat the drama.

If only I could return to my glory days,
Before the war that stole from me
The full use of my brain.

They called me a veteran
Before they called me insane.
Combat destroys the psychology
Of Men and Women of Valor.
After we fight for your liberty
You discard us like soda cans.

If only my personal history was accessible;
I would be free of the mist that shuts it down,
The ruddy dirt that taints the lamps of the soul.
I hope that my eyes would see things differently,
But my conclusion is resolute.

There is still hope:

Trauma can be the end of the road
If you let it hold you hostage.
The victim mentality is as dangerous
As distancing yourself from the act.
Even if you are justified in your outrage,
Look forward; never back.
You will be ready to overcome the drama
With a supremely successful counterattack.

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