3 | wake

2004

I saw a psychologist in March
with hair the color of new shoe polish
who told me
that I am an emotional
masochist 

who told me to write you a letter, to pen it
in ink, admit to the hollow fissure
of the clothes left
lynching in your closet
even if it didn’t make sense 
still

to say your name and follow through to completion
this gathering wound of my left side gone
to stop regarding the edges of my bed
as a low wall of razor blades
and everyone I knew as eventual collapse
to tell her all our stories
and then the grand finis

God, I hated her

     stopped coming to my appointments after that 

          and then I left the country