Notes to my therapist - IV

The afternoon sun melts the days –
it moves lethargically – dragging
its viscous body from one hour to the next.

I can see it in my clock – it has started to melt
The 6 slowly oozing down the wall.

I watch it from the floor
Where I lay in a pool of my blood
You are there – somewhere – watching me
Playing with the stained knife.

How many times did you kill me this month?
Six?

You were always kind to me when we were together
You used the same knife to cut apples for me…
But suddenly you left – taking everything with you
Except the questions –
They roamed about my house – like a derelict wind –
growling wild – looking for the answers they eluded them.

They never let me sleep at night…
At dawn they slept and I kept awake – asking questions
Till you came with your knife to put me to sleep...

It can’t go on like this….
I can’t keep dying like this –
Maybe one of these days I’ll stop playing the victim
and come to you for some answers.

I might then be able to open the windows
and let this mad hurricane out.

I might sleep then…