I wake up. Off. Different. Something's changed. Something strange. Day by day it's the wonder of what I did. Who I am? Why I did it? Fragments of memories like a jigsaw puzzle. Pieces I don't remember. Pieces I can't always recall. Not knowing isn't better than knowing. I'm no angel. I'm no devil. Barely have time for myself. Cuz it's trapped in the same day the same vicious cycle all over again. Knowing my thoughts are me but my body is some place else. Only music TV movies and poetry has become some kind of solace. Nightmares once sweet dreams. Friends strangers. Blood are imposters to my own skin. A shiver crawls and my skin feels betrayed. Loves become foreign. Languages set on mute. Emotions bleed on only pages. I say I write what I feel. Genuinely. Loudly. Unconditionally my pen is the truth behind my eyes. PTSD isn't fun with a added complex on the side. You say come home. When you were never home and never will be. Things frighten me now I'm just numb. Love itself is a guise I attempted to comprehend and failed. Best friend becomes something of a sweet nightmare. Girlfriend just a velvet nightmare that pierce the veil. Yet my eyes are still blind. Stress kills. When I don't know what to feel. Not knowing hurts the most when what made you whole at home completely safe is gone out of the realm of being real. The only two reasons to live just drifts away. Family is delusions of lies that blur your hindsight. When doctors aren't doctors no more just pawns. No checkmate. Only a war that never ends in my head. Even if you told me it isn't real. There's still what if. Not knowing. Yeah I don't remember. This is me 24/7 and no one understands why. Not knowing is better than knowing. Questioning who am I what am I all the time.