For My Therapist

Yeah, you have your fucking theories.
You don't know the half of how life
Writhes beyond those theories' lines.
You're right. The woman's an obsession.
What else would I have her be? All else
Is horror, desolation. If I do not think
Of her, I see the void. I want to die, so
Let me keep her where she is, and know
That she is there, in part, because that's
Where she wants to be, as she, too,
Floats within a void, and my obsession
Is a light within which she can glow.
You're right. What I want will not be.
She'll have to go. I'll have to give up.
What then? What does theory say?
I see her sinking. That's not right.
I see me splattered somewhere
On a highway, like an accident, and I
See you. You've just been paid, and
Someone else is coming in, her life
Alive and writhing, undermining
All the fucking theories you applied
With little grace before to salvage me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 46 times
Written on 2015-07-09 at 01:29

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