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A Psychiatrist's Dream

Poem

By Paul CrockerPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
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Hello Mr Byron oh, sorry I mean Lord.

Get on with it you overpriced twit I'm getting bored.

Okay so what is making you feel so blue?

I'm always looking to drink, gamble or screw.

Ah, I see that isn't exactly ideal.

I drink to numb, gamble for fun and screw to remind me I feel.

Welcome Mr Shelley, How can I help today?

I can not sleep, despite counting sheep it does not resolve my dismay.

Right, perhaps we can put you on these pills.

If I take those meds I won't leave the bed and my sanity will surely spill.

Okay maybe then another approach.

I'm hearing voices, making bad choices and think I'm covered in many a cockroach.

Good morning Miss Dickinson, what is your burden?

Take it slow, I'm delicate you know and please close the curtain.

A touch of anxiety seems to be the case.

I'll talk with you to see this through but I will not do so face to face.

That could be tricky if we are to progress.

I write all night and only in white will I be dressed.

Good afternoon Mr Poe, why do you shake?

I'm paranoid that I'll be destroyed. One can so easily break.

It is only in your mind.

You don't want to go there, the depths of despair is all you will find.

This treatment will be costly how would you like to pay?

Despite my success, my debts give me stress so I can only bid you good day.

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About the Creator

Paul Crocker

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