me, me, and the doc

[we’ve been here before, i think. familiar odor.
reminds me of the alps, i, i, think. familiar odor.]

the doctor enters the dimly lit light-yellow-whitish
stained stoned
cylinder blocked room,
sits…sits…sits, yeah, she sits at the chair facing me and asks,
“Still feeling sad today?”
i answered with a question, “am i still alive?”
Doc: “Yes, of course.”
me: “then what the fuck do you think?”

…93 days in the mental ward and counting…


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Recently moved back to the States after living 16 months in Vietnam. I write to remove the thoughts trapped in the cobwebs of my psyche before the spider envelopes me whole.

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