Body bags, Toe tags, assorted pieces galore.
Once they were a soldier, now their my mind's horror.
I am only treated, I never will be well.
I walk as people stare at me in my living Hell.
I did my job in the morgue to the best of my ability.
Now the morgue's trapped in my thoughts, for me to always see.
Many colors, sounds and smells are triggers in my mind,
but, I'd send my comrades home again, time after time.
The closure I helped give to the families of the dead,
was the sacrifice my mind endured leaving me in dread.
We gave the fallen the most respect a soldier could ever see,
and I have no regrets for the pain that's trapped inside of me.
PTSD and a Bipolar mind will be with me to the end,
but, even though I suffer I'd do it all again.
Years ago suicide seemed like the only thought I knew,
As I sat and drank heavily it seemed like the thing to do.
The pills I take to go to sleep get weaker every year,
the tears I find in my eyes respect the fallen dear.
The VA does the best they can with my splintered mind,
yet, I fear it may burn out somewhere down the line.
