7 October 2012
I was lucky, they said, To have made it out at all. To be safe here in this bed, With a story to recall.
But I really don't see the luck, In my broken scarred form. In these carers who don't give a fuck. In this place without reform.
Where is the good fortune, In these haunting, grotesque flashbacks? That reek of death smelling perfumes, And the constant hurtful panic attacks?
If I am to be filled with luck, To have somehow survived, To a life of pain and muck. Honestly, I'd rather of died.
Survivor • Opuss № I