They Call It Therapy
1
The stopgap silence hits
Her in the face
And the stench of cleanliness
Burns like bleach on the skin.
Her name falls off the cherry lips
Of a cheery aide
(Nice to see you.)
2
Prognostic diagnosis is
Chemical warfare
(Don’t be afraid.)
With a cocktail of loss,
Hair, memory, appetite,
Enter stage left on Stage 3.
3
Her skin is broken
To make room
For a spider web of wires
Communicating the chemicals
To brain and breast
(Did I hurt you?)
4
She wraps her blank slate of skin
In whimsical scarves
To make others more comfortable
(You look great, better even.)
Performing optimism
For the healthy.
1
The stopgap silence hits
Her in the face
And the stench of cleanliness
Burns like bleach on the skin.
Her name falls off the cherry lips
Of a cheery aide
(Nice to see you.)
2
Prognostic diagnosis is
Chemical warfare
(Don’t be afraid.)
With a cocktail of loss,
Hair, memory, appetite,
Enter stage left on Stage 3.
3
Her skin is broken
To make room
For a spider web of wires
Communicating the chemicals
To brain and breast
(Did I hurt you?)
4
She wraps her blank slate of skin
In whimsical scarves
To make others more comfortable
(You look great, better even.)
Performing optimism
For the healthy.
By: Lacey Lord