Sessions with Olivier

Hear me doctor -
the ceiling is pouring.
My hair, still withered, 
my skin, still in drought.
Only my eyes,
they are a stream
that meets the sea.
Then I remember the first time
we kissed, 
the river joined the Atlantic,
my trembling breath stood
on top of the waves,
a shoal of bream circled in my veins.

Hear me doctor -
I am at the height of my anxiety.
Have I been losing sleep or
am I stuck
in this bizarre dream?
I see his face
in every man that tries to compete.
Night looms, tides rise, 
I am drowning in pieces of me,
can’t catch my breath
from how foolish

I was making it more than it was.

Hear me doctor -
These four walls are caving in.
Ribcage close to breaking my lungs
when I gasp for oxygen
like the day I saw him with her.
Haven’t I already learned
sorry costs only
a flick on the tongue,
still I ache for it, 
why, I want desperately to forgive.

Tell me doctor -
Am I wrong for being me?
Have you a remedy for being human?
And is there a potion as strong
as the whiskey in your cabinet,
one such makes me forget
the memories that come around and run
their fingers through my hair?