PTSD – Courage gained and lost

He left.
Not nobly like some Captain Oates,
Calling over his shoulder how,
He might be gone some little time.
No he left quietly.

He left.
To end the pain and heartache,
Left because he was sick of hurt,
Was sick of how his brain kept thumping.
So he left quietly.

He left.
Because he never saw,
Relief from all the screaming noise,
Of failure written on his soul.
So he just left.

He left.
Looking through cold, brown eyes,
Just walked away from everyone,
And everything he knew.
He just left.

He left.
Because he knew that time,
Could ever be recaptured or relived,
And so the failure mounted day on day.
He had to leave.

He left.
Anger and sad, bitter and mad,
That all the things that he became,
Came from the hand of someone else.
So he left.

He left.
Quietly yet burning in his soul,
Knowing that hope was other people’s lots,
And that he never could be whole.
He had to leave.

He left.
And no one thought to look,
Until one day they found his bones,
Putrid and mangled in the woods.
He left.

He left.
And everyone declared,
He was unwell, it’s not our fault,
He was a soul unreachable.
That’s why he left.

He was gone.
Another statistic in the book of life,
Crossed out by his own choice,
Because he knew that there was nothing else.
Except to leave.



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