Symphony of Dying
that dark place had returned although
I tried to conceal it but there it was again
it had been years through medication therapy
mass singing in the choir nothing worked
I reached out to the veterans crisis chat line
for military veterans and their families coping
with ptsd they sent me literature I went to
extensive groups my husband and I even
volunteered attending weekly groups and
still my ptsd just wasn't receptive I mean
the night terrors were at bay sitting in group
everyone in group has suffered people mingle
I couldn't find not one living soul who wore wires
pregnant on unborn children buying weapons
and drugs for the fbi from junk sick officers my
mental health was fading my therapist tried hypnosis
which only brought memories of arson murder
of nine my panic raised I had to be quickly sedated
in her office I was being followed home invasions
break ins and identity theft i feared my safety these
were bitter family members of the killers dealers
exposed to my wearing wires for the fbi clearly my
mental illness was worse due to the sudden brain
injury from a cicero car bomb crushing my skull
I cried all the time like a toddler I was tired drain
about to walk out in front of a bus me beautiful
lovely me the phone rang it was crisis on the other
end she said agent brown we are here for you
and you belong in this world your children your
parents love you i had no friends just choir members
church members and disabled veterans i knew I was hated
by so many gang leaders killers convicted and friends
I knew were all part of my undercover work i found
comfort saved because I saved many lives including
the fbi agents sitting in their vehicles unaware
corruption had provided the dealers riot gear
to kill fbi agents myself and my children seated
in cars with the fbi somehow I began to feel the fbi
agents hated me too after all they installed the wires
on my unborn children perhaps they needed me dead
needed to keep me quiet an yet my therapist encouraged
me to get it out my throat was closing up I couldn't breathe
i didn't feel brave i didn't have courage i felt like a suicide
bomber wired up going into hostage situations carrying
secrets secrets killers dealers were breaking into my
home to read secrets assassins were willing to ignite
a bomb in my face secrets that would explode years
later affected many many lives i was all alone I excepted
it lonely was better isolation was a must I wasn't able
to be in any crowd afraid of my shadow severe headaches
here I was crying behind the maroon drapes again I
truly was fed up with being threatened fed up with the
breaks identity theft living going through the fakeness
smiling for everyone else my own personal witness protection
in plain sight going to the doctors therapist church groups
meeting my only solace for peace was in volunteering pta
military order of the purple heart and the special olympics
giving of self helping restore communities caring for others
takes the dreaded focus of suicide thoughts fighting madness
screaming deep painful sadness when that dark place return
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