Gremlins

 I don't have monkeys on my back

Oh no, they be gremlins
cause CPTSD
Is a frozen hell within
in the belly of
the crying child
lost in the dark
out in the wild

A corroding battery
sold to the sin
cures in gin
and burns within
like fire and ice
churning in my gut
blocked by histamine pills
antacids
and what
pride, or self love
or lack of luck
Or ravens, or doves...

Only universe above
knows the real pain
In the hub
Of the innermost part
Of my heart
Of my bleeding will to love

When the darkness
hits the trees
in the forest
of my soul
in the whispers
It be told
as the danger
lurks in the cold

There’s the axe
meant to grind
meant to spill all the wine
down sewage pipes
or to cook a swine

And on the sills
Of the windows
to my soul
are dried up tears
from a grueling
38 years
Of broken mirrors
and hidden mold

Each year a nick mark
from a shard
to a scar
that must beam light
through the tunnel
with all the might
I have left to fight
this contentious plight

My scars must beam the light
to blast these gremlins
off my back
to burn them to ash
For the bag I pack
must keep lights on
so they never come back

S.R. Ashcraft, April 28 2024