PTSD

A short poem about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

He looks in the mirror
But there's nothing he sees
'Cept a man who's asking
About PTSD.
He hates it;
That they give terror a title
When in reality
Post is an ongoing battle.
But still they persist,
"What's it like?"
He can't answer their questions
Because there's no response.
Gunfire all around
Green men, brown sand, black guns.
Blood coats the ground.
It's not a disorder
You can hide behind letters.
Each nightmare differs.
He doesn't mean for cruelty
But these soldiers fight not
For PTSD