i visit the Therapist, sit tightly on his velvet couch.
This day we spoke of you-i could not sew my rotten mouth.
My teeth and tongue, felt extremely painful.
As i spoke of you, so empty and hateful;
I forget why i’m with you.
They all gossiped of how i’d live my life.
My mother would whisper nightly.
’Hush this useless cry’
Because we are tired of hearing your boring name .
So hungry and beaten-i feel greatly ashamed.
His name is Cooper-my tone cold as ice.
His picture above him, on the shelf right behind.
My therapist-The father of you.
It was time to leave, heres my cue.
Before i leave,i insist on asking a question.
Are you aware your son has given me depression?