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Unspoken thoughts about and to my therapist

As Time Goes By

Written by:bewilderness
Published on August 29th, 2011 @ 01:00:40 am , using 59 words, 319 views
Posted in bewilderness

Is it bad that suddenly I can't tell
if you're a really good therapist
or just a really mean man?
Is what I feel I need
and what I really need
never
the same?
I trust you but you tell me that there are no easy answers.
And I feel as trapped as when I first came to see you,
as time goes by.

 

 

The "Good" Split

Written by:bewilderness
Published on September 17th, 2011 @ 04:07:06 am , using 80 words, 327 views
Posted in bewilderness

27 July 2011

Every second I sat
shuddering, there
staring at absolutely nothing, absolutely anything
but your face.
Was a wasted moment of
"our time together."
But it was your fault
Your voice turns me into a rat in your maze
somehow I'm transfixed
I'll do anything
for the smallest crumb of cheese.
Why do I give you this power over me...
and trust you?
The sound of my name in your mouth is hypnotizing.
My heart flinches in its anticipation.
I'm standing on the edge,
strap a parachute on me and push.

 

 

I Can't Take It

Written by:bewilderness
Published on August 20th, 2011 @ 11:39:56 pm , using 31 words, 345 views
Posted in bewilderness

No more wandering away from my reality
Here it is:
cold, thick, and plain.
Overwhelmingly so.
No more commandeering inspiration
No more tripping through fantasies of competence
Here I am
again.
Sober.
Warm and frightened.
Unimpressive.
insignificant.
No escape.
I can't take it.

Moody

Written by:bewilderness
Published on August 11th, 2011 @ 04:42:51 pm , using 16 words, 347 views
Posted in bewilderness

I'm oscillating
flipping between
shimmering hope and gloomy despair
rage and ecstacy
between overwhelmed and bored
like some wretched light switch

Dead limb arms

Written by:bewilderness
Published on August 2nd, 2011 @ 11:43:46 pm , using 60 words, 399 views
Posted in bewilderness

No jolt of creativity passes through
Write! He says.
He is you.

A current of understanding tugs at my ankles
Don't fight the tide, he says,
Not the highs nor the lows.

But these dead limb arms
are crossed in defiance.
These two fat worms.

No inspiration takes hold,
I open and close my mouth
To retell what I'm told

I can't live like this, I said,
that is all I know.

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