Eight of Us Went In and Five of Us Came Out
A poem about survivor’s guilt.
Maybe I don’t want to heal
Torment, the connection
To Tragedies in the past
The pain holds me
When no one else will
A brutal embrace
And a terrible despair
I’m afraid
To heal is to forget
Comrades dissolved like salt in the rain,
The ultimate disrespect
This world is beautiful, yet unforgiving
No, I’d rather not heal
Safe in the darkened shadows
Where the demons haunt
Living in an alternate reality,
The constant misery, soothing
Survivor’s guilt, a heavy-weight
A brick chained to my leg
Onto my brain
The faces seared
They didn’t have a chance
I don’t want to heal
I need the pain
Forever damaged,
In my suffering, their honor will remain
Chris Patton is a writer focusing on helping readers feel the experience of PTSD flashbacks and other symptoms, rather than just reading about them. He also crafts the occasional poem about love and longing.
