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A
Sufferer’s Perspective
A Mind of the Troubles
Andrew Little
I was walking again in a
Belfast street
Where children played in the sun.
They swung round lampposts, kicked a
ball,
But my work had just begun.
Time slipped into freeze-frame,
And the picture turned black and white.
A stinging smell filled my head
And someone turned out the light
I knew it was only a dream,
When I woke with a jolt and a thud.
And the sticky pool that I lay in
Was just sweat and not someone’s blood.
So every night I stay up late.
Fighting darkness till I fall
Into the abyss of scary sleep.
Hurry morning, please, my nightly call.
For, once again I’ll walk that street.
Once again, I’ll smell that smell.
Once again, I’ll taste dry terror.
Once again, tonight, I’ll visit hell.
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Reproduced with
permission
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