I just got off the phone with my therapist.

She told me that I have a problem with getting high. 

Apparently it’s not normal to do LSD every Thursday, Friday, Saturday and why not Sunday. 

Apparently it’s not normal to burn your hand every time you smoke up.

It’s not normal to cheat on people that love you. 

But how can I trust her? I’ve never seen life done cleaner. 

Most people are doing just as bad as me. 

Plus, she says my cat is beautiful when I show her pictures and that’s how I know she’s a liar.

My cat is plain looking and only beautiful on the inside.

She just says shit to uplift me.

Then she does the opposite.

She says my brain will turn to liquid. 

She says that, one day, the trip will be all I see. 

I see it now as I lie in bed and write. 

I still see them and I still hear them and I still feel them. 

My cat sees it all too, and she tells me that we’re safe. 

Then she tells me to feed her tuna fish, so I peel open a can and she comes running. 

Gross how that fish smells. 

Gross how it’s oils fall onto the counter. 

But it spirals in her bowl and she hums. 

You really ought to see her, beautiful little thing. 


The first time I got high it was on love.

And I know how that sounds. 

And I see you rolling your eyes at me; don’t roll your eyes at me. 

The first time I got high it was on a man who shouldn’t have been there, who smelt like mints and the absence of sanity. 

Boundless, how he loved me. 

Listen to me. If your daughter is ever out every Saturday night at four in the morning with a man who isn’t thirteen like she is, go get her. 

Don’t sit at home and watch the NBC special on Domestic Abuse and Toxic Relationships. 

Trust me, you aren’t learning a goddamn thing. 

Go out and get me, mom.

Go out and get her because somewhere off— somewhere far that I don’t remember the name of —there is a man digging a hole in her belly that will only ever be filled by- 

Go get me, mom. 

Why did you never come?

Everyone always pretends to be nearby. 


It’s dark out, my therapist told me to grab a box of bandaids. 

Now I am a broken person wearing band aids. 

There are fractals dancing and people humming and I wonder what you’re up to. 

The cat is buried. It’s dark out. I forgive you.

What are you looking for?