I have to call my therapist
the only thing keeping me up - this

I think I need the sick spot
the endless gut spilling
it's too much for God's sake
Give myself some rest
Pills, tourniquet, sewing,
creating
healing

I think I need the sick spot
to never go sick again
a little detour to never stray

I have to call her next morning
I might do it or not, but keeps me floating
I am halfway to hell and halfway to bliss
And in the middle, this.

Like I was again dreaming of
that airport where I got lost
I am not anxiously roaming,
because I've got a note
next appointment with her

Clutching my sheets tightly
but so relaxing
Talking to him, calmly
thinking that I have to call you
next morning