Clinical Conversations with the Ticket Taker

 This sentence was written in quicksand 

These words were drawn while drowning 

line for line, without pen, I'd like to down some drugs again. 

Erase, erase– a place and a face, all are foreign and without shape. 

Not you nor I could save a therapist's mind, from the things of what I may say. 

Let's sit and talk about final thoughts:

"An impending noose wraps my breath." 

Constricting my lines and my vocals inside, as there is no remedy for a long goodbye. 

I ask for no help, or, a wish for the self, to have a quality of life made everlasting,

Wasting words–with pills that can't curb, --the gallows that I greet in my asking. 

For what I seek, you will think I not need, but my need is known in the knowing. 

I ask for a script, that I can place on my lips, then sleep the sleep that is never broken. 

You cannot prescribe for loss while condemning it to walk, 

As it is a path that walks with the weight that I carry.

Write me this slip & sit without guilt. I bought a ticket to ride on this Ferry.