W4T (new title, revision, saying goodbye to this poem)

[TranquillityBase]

To My Therapist

These are the hot months:
you sit there so wise
you fill my mirror
inhabiting my eyes.

“An inside job,” you say
speaking in erasable ink
so this humble patient 
can read what you think.

I make it my mantra:
that evens the score.
Now we are equals
right down to the core.

W4T (Writing for Therapy)



Exiled by sunrise

I beg for a rest 

to escape the truths

I hear on your breath.



I watch your eyes’ movement

you sit there so still

as if you were every mirror

except the one that you fill.



I question my motives

counting words I could try.

My stuttering brain

expects me to lie.



An inside job, you say

speaking in erasable ink

so this mainline cultist 

can see what you think.







W4T (Writing for Therapy)







Exiled from sunset



I don’t know which way is best



to escape the lies



I smell on your breath.







These are the hot months:



you sit there so still



as if you were all mirrors



except the one that you fill.







I’ve questioned my sanity



offering tears at every halt.



My answers, loyal and quiet,



demand a little more fault.







An inside job, says the expert,



speaking in erasable ink



so this mainline cultist 



can see what he thinks.