it feels like we're sitting in the waiting room,
impatient to see a doctor who will only
outline, whats wrong with us.
i don't know why we're waiting ,
what's the rush?
there's plenty of time to be told about
the dark & grimy parts of ourselves
plenty of time to fall apart.
i could avoid those doors, if i truly wanted to
i could walk back home and never know
what we're made of.
ignorance is bliss after all.
so why, why am i sitting with you in
this dull white room, talking about the weather
and asking about things neither of us really care
about, hearing but not listening to the sound
of the plastic chairs we sit on groan and creak
in protest as we try to inch closer to one another.