Therapist. [edited]

Consume the seat across from me,

And watch.

Watch the fight of what is a heaven,

And what is a hand clutching onto a false sense of morality;

For ears may only hear what can only pay them.

I was born again through the womb that coexisted between what was little faith in humanity

and broken mirrors;

So scribble across my feelings,

And shove sugar down my throat,

And call me again next Tuesday.

If thin metal doesn’t act as a medicine before prescriptions,

You might see me then.

Who cared more for myself,

More than the destruction of pictures that were already broken.

I it that much.

And so I am left to clean and look at the reasons;

Though I am to blame.

Forsake what I am.

I’ll diagnose life and all of its creatures.

All of which suffers,

And howl,

Silently behind the doors we paid for.

I’d introduce myself,

But I was already diagnosed after I told the truth;

I’d be sane if I lied.

Yes.

You were right.

I’d smile if I lied to myself.