Time of year, breaking news, the wind blowing a certain way…whatever the trigger
There is no telling when it is going to strike
Are they alive or dead?
Is that pain real or echoes from pain long ago that
resurface with a memory?
It feels like I’m being held hostage by my mind
Doesn’t matter what day, time, or year it is…the anatomy of my flashbacks
Are those smells real or is that a smell from a place and time
when I was being held against my will?
Am I really hearing the sounds of helicopters, planes, cicadas or birds?
Or it that the sound coming from a place that no longer exists and
should never be talked about?
Then it passes and I pull myself up the rope
Out of the clutches of PTSD and the skeleton hands of the past
that keep trying to pull me down
The anatomy of my flashbacks
image source: pixabay
Thank you for reading my memoir, Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph