Is there something else to say?
Poetry. Makes. Me. Tired. I wish. I wasn’t. A poet.
I wish doctors help me.
I know. I just-
Something in the past-
Trauma. My legs being taken. My personality becoming borderline-
It all had been changed.
Doctors are supposed to heal and not the other way around.
Get real. Handed Pills. Awoken dreams. Blankets full of whiteness.
Doctors can become the worst patients.
How good was I at treating you? Are your traumas gone now? Is there anyone listening?
It’s going to be all right.
You were playing with fire
Well, here’s the damage.
Scars. Third-degree burns. Strange wording. Exclamation marks. Unstable barking and food.
That coffee wasn’t even good enough.
I should have had sex in the elevator.