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Difficult Days - what is PTSD post traumatic stress disorder
I am tired Tired of the battle Weary of the struggle Worn out Worn down by constant effort to stand And the song of the Cheap whore of suicide Like a moist siren, wooing me to sweet repose, Calls Ever calls In a deafening whisper That bellows Drowning out the voice of hope Denying and possible future With finality pronouncing My tomorrow D.O.A.