Taking Time

I'm at work, doing my thing, and someone comes up behind me, puts a hand on my shoulder, just wanting to talk, to catch my attention, as I try to hide inside my own head, music on as loud as it will go. I jump and start, then try to listen to what they wanted. But behind my eyes, it's all about the panic, the moment of fear that brings it all back, the smells and sounds, the pressure and the pain, the feeling that I'll never be safe again. I want to cry out, I want to strike out, but who would listen, who would understand? So I sit there, some well meaning chap trying to talk geek, while I'm week in the knees and feeling like puke, wishing they'd just get out of my office, and leave me alone, like I wished when I was little. The wish is just as effective then as now. Someone long ago, took something special, even now, they steal the moments of my life, when I should be happy, when I should be working, when I should be living. Some people don't just take your childhood innocence. Sometimes they take the rest of your life along for the ride. Taking time. Take it all. Life like this isn't living, it's just wasting time, until I die.