PTSD

These old grounds haunt me.
I’m taunted by the smell of pine and the feeling of straw underfoot.
An eery chill and suddenly I feel ill.
I’m stuck, frozen in place, drowning in waves of endless trees as far as the eye can see.

It scares me how far I’ve come and how much everything has changed.
And how all it takes is one aroma to send me right back to that place.
Standing still among the greenery, getting goosebumps from the breeze, and feeling helpless as if I’d just scraped my knees.
These trees stare at me, looming overhead, and I expect to be swallowed and left for dead.

I see you through these walls and walls of trees pondering what lies just beyond the barrier of green.