I don't want to talk about it really

I was just sitting on the grey couch
While he sat across from me with a pen and paper
And we were laughing
Laughing about how
I never really had to watch someone slowly die
Because everyone I've cared about that's passed
Was shot point blank
Close range
And my therapist giggled
As the morbid humor rushed out of me
And it kind of just echoed through the small dimly lit room

Until I started to scream
Crying hysterically
He just looked at me slowly
Realizing the moment had quickly passed
And turned into a very visceral flashback

He's trying to talk me down but all I could see
Was the footage looping over and over again
In my head
Why was he holding a knife yelling 'dont shoot'
Why the **** was he holding a knife?


So no,
I don't really want to talk about it.
I just want to lie here and focus on the pressure you're applying to my chest
While you hold me
Wrap your arms around me
So I can finally fall asleep.