C-PTSD

There’s a catch in my voice
when I pray your name
and something that gets in my eye
when I pass by your pictures on the wall
but mostly my eyes stare blankly
at walls and floors and everywhere
unless I fall to bad old habits and then
I lash out, foolishly, with words
I do not mean
nor ought ever be writ
I wake in the night now
and my therapist says it’s C-PTSD
made far worse than before because of
this situation
so, I wake in tears and screams
usually your name
and often no-no-no-no-no
in the heat and chill of sweat and terror
and the trembling wakefulness that follows
Night-terrors and the ghosts of daylight
are my lot
that makes calamity of so long life
no more the whips and scorn of time
Be all my sins remembered

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