Little Pink Pill

A villanelle about psychiatric medication was the original, I'll probably post more poems.

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3. Shrink

 

I have a Shrink.

a psychiatrist.

I used to have a psychologist,

but she grew worried, 

thought I needed meds.

 

I probably do.

There's a problem.

 

I, the pathetic probable schizophrenic, suicidal, self harming, idiot that lies pathologically to himself and others,

can't trust his shrink.

 

I lie about my cuts, I don't take my pills, I get drunk, sometimes high, I hide my perverted sexuality from others,

I can't speak truth.

 

I trust people from places I will never visit, faces I will never see, anonymous persons in front of a screen,

not a doctor.

 

Yet every day as the pain grows stronger, the cuts increase, the thoughts go wild the sanity seeps, as does the will to live

I can't stand it.

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