I sit to write a letter
that no one should have to pen,
to speak for a friend silenced
by battles fought within.
Words come slow and heavy,
each truth raw and clear,
trying to hold your memory,
making sure they hear.
The VA saw just numbers,
lines on paper, not the pain,
the nightmares, sleepless nights,
the shadow you became.
I knew those quiet signs,
your back pressed to the wall,
always scanning exits,
braced, expecting it all.
A cup you held too tightly,
alcohol hidden in plain sight,
your medicine and poison,
fighting darkness without light.
In writing, I’m admitting
I recognize your hurt,
because your pain mirrored mine,
same wounds beneath my shirt.
This letter is for your family,
for justice overdue,
words that hurt to share
but less than losing you.
I seal it with frustration,
hoping it reaches hearts that read,
knowing if you’d gotten help,
this letter wouldn’t need.
Originally written in 2020
