Pinch Me PTSD

I learned never to leave the trodden path
By walking into a wasp nest.
For the 150 wasps that attacked me,
Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt that much.
Each sting didn’t hurt more than a pinch.
But I suppose trauma sometimes doesn’t care
About how much it hurt in the first place.
When you re-live the helpless fear of running through a forest
Like a rabbit from a fox
It is not the stings that burn into your soul
But the horror of death
Flashing before your eyes.
I just wish never leave the trodden path
Hadn’t translated into other things:
Never enter the forest that you once called home.
Always shower evening and night to try
And hide from death in the water
Never let anyone else in
Because they will kill you in the end.
Where is the pleasure
In living your life
Like a 28 mile sprint
Rather than a marathon?
I am still sprinting through that forest
Letting the trees pass me by
To avoid the blackness seeping in.
Maybe its time to slow down
And see whether the wasps are still there.
They can pinch me to see if I am
Still alive.