You defer that next meeting
at the doctor’s,
knowing that to talk to oneself,
for far too long
makes poor verbiage of one’s days;
and worse for wear is your mind.
naturally then you look at yourself
a certain way
and then to see round eyes of others’
is a slow death.
It minces your thoughts,
word by word,
little by little.
You see yourself as a jester and a fool,
testing out your own expressions
before the mirror
and then imagining the doctors’
They swim like floating weeds,
coming up to the surface without
clarity amongst dirty pools
and you somewhere are sure that
the three letter word is on your mind.
That’s why you seek your shadows
in convenient silences,
stretched out throughout the
longevity of teenage
and young adulthood.
But now you are about to touch
and shame is what you need to barter
with the devil on your shoulder.
he bespoke your innocence
disguising them as parameters of bliss
So enough with him.
You have marked the meeting,
spending Sunday ticking by,
like an implosive time-bomb of sorts.
you gather your twitching thoughts
Palpitating about how the perpetual
traffic in motion
means that nobody really stops,
to work or feel or see.
Certainly not to see you like this.
They just move
They just move
Or spin in the same static time zones.
Your brow receives a light downpour
and your body gets cold,
from counting the number of closed
switches in the rooms
and checking the stove in the kitchen,
for the twentieth time within a
11 O’ Clock,
marked for a show of reality.
And when the doctor does raise his
and makes you more nervous by the
earnestness of the session,
being as he is human,
or just acting professional,
you doubt if coming here was worth it
And your mind keeps moving
in a static frame,
of what it means to go there
in the first place.