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Wrenching and whirling
Like a tree, branching to the beginning
I relive these moments, seething.
A slam of the door
To me, so much more
Your voice’s modulation
Makes me brimful of panic and reversion
I'm a movie projector
Pandemonium being a pen
I'm glaring at the curtains
Projector in my head, again.
It flashes what was before
And it's makes me tattered
But no one else can see
This movie theater, called PTSD
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