PTSD

But how do mend wounds you can’t see?
How the hell do you cure PTSD?
How can I help those that were sent
To hell in a jungle; to live in a tent.

How can I tell them, “What you did was okay”,
When to myself those words I can’t say.
How do we explain to our wives and our kids
We are not heroes; It was a job that we did.

How can you tell that strong willed son,
Enjoy your youth, it’s suppose to be fun.
How do you tell that sweet little girl,
I’d do it again to get you in my world.

Going to war ain’t what it’s cracked up to be
But I’d rather do war, than not just be me.
I have some of those wounds that you can not see,
I live with the nightmare called PTSD.

My neighbors think I am living the American Dream,
They don’t know about the night time screams.
They haven’t a clue as to what I might be;
Just a screwed up vet with PTSD.

You think that the money’s going to make you well,
Take away the memory of living in Hell,
Take the pain from the scars from the wounds that you see
But what the hell will cure this PTSD.

I never was young or so it now seems;
Youth to me is a long ago dream.
I was not warrior; not a killer of men
I was a corpsman but I can no longer mend.

I take my meds just to sleep at night,
But I still have dreams of that long ago fight.
Yes, I have some scars you can see,
But living is hell with PTSD.