( my own words)
November 22
Words were his weapon of choice.
The bullets remain lodged in my brain.
I am a casualty of war, but there are no marks on my skin.
The wounds I carry are deep within,
hidden out of sight from any prying eyes or judgemental tongue.
My mind is perforated.
Drip, drip, I hear his voice again.
He is still the war I cannot win.
His army of bullets still flies.
So I must lie in this trench until I die.
In the Shadow of my Pen 