( 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.

Published by In the Shadow of my Pen

Indie Poet and Author✍️ of four collections of poetry. Chronic Fatigue Warrior💪 Volunteer, Solo Traveller✈️ and Yogi🙏. Spilling ink from my heart and Soul. My writing is real and raw, so if you are looking for a fairy tale you are on the wrong site!

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