Poetic Affliction

My chronic pain could serve 

as an apt metaphor for my PTSD:

It's ever present - a matter of degree.

Interrupted –

every now and again by acute agony.

Then I'm wrenched back,

dragged into the past and pain.

After a while - too long, it will pass again,

settling back into the usual soreness;

the calm - before another trauma tempest.

When my joints slip; it could denote dissociation.

A dislocated mind, escaping.

It's all very fucking poetic.

But no one wrote this tragedy.

There is no reason why

all this suffering belongs to me.