2:15, waiting for the doctor reading magazines. Looking at their covers full of chimpanzees. Filling up with envy now my face is green. Getting nauseous sitting, thinking here of you and your man you said who fell in love with you. Hope the doctor has advice to cure my blues. Thinking back to nursery rhymes in kinder school and the songs they sang of he and you. Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Mo, this is where his fingers go. Running up your milky thighs, looking in you virgin eyes. I can not believe it true that he catholic straddles you. I could never let him do this, Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Mucus. Thinking back to that fateful Monday evening heart attack. Looking for my life assuring air-flow bag. Can't move from the knife that you placed in my back. I'm picking up the slack in this pseudo-home, ready to disembark on my own. Hope that one day I can try to make us whole. As for now he'll stay the pleasure in your soul as all your happy campers sing.
Therapy never taught me how to cope, now look who's given up on hope. Therapy. They're appeased. Mom and Daddy want me here to wipe away these baby tears.
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