The Analyst

Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash

She probably never thought she meant much to me
Some lonely girl on a couch who’d lost everything;
A mom
A dad

A home
A job
A marriage
An identity

Converged at once into a singular obliterating ordeal
A life thought of one way, now resigned to another
A dizzying dust devil that sweeps across the road not taken
Blinding and whisking me from its reach

I am propelled into a whirlwind, one of folklore and legends
The incubus twisting, controlling my body and soul
Directing me toward the filthy shortcut of self-annihilation
The one that seeks release from pain

An artificial lightness of air
Produced by sweltering asphalt and sterile deserts
I look for an anchor, the extrication of the demon’s grip
Fiercely smashing through the electrically charged blockade

Then dear mother’s words, deafening me, like one hundred thirty decibels of static
Eternal fables of holy matrimony between life and hope; is it so?
And just as a sorcerer will do, vanishing like a coward in the wake of its own havoc
Surrendering me into an alien world, unexplored, four beige walls and this couch

© 2023 Mona S Gable All Rights Reserved

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