Friendship

I’m sick.

Mentally

Physically

Emotionally.

I’m sick of being here.

I’m sick of being disappointed.

I’m sick of not being good enough.

I don’t want a therapist.

I want a friend.

I want to kill the virus that takes your body as a host

I want to fight beside you in battle

I want to bring you blankets and bake you cupcakes to help you through the storms

I don’t want a hand shake

I want a fucking hug.

Everything is so professional with you

It’s so distant

There’s a divide

And I feel it

I’m not your friend

I’m your patient.

I don’t want to be that anymore.

That’s why I expected so much from you.

Because I misread

I misinterpreted.

Friends are with you through everything

Therapists help you get over things

They help you face your battles head on

And that’s it.

You don’t learn of their battles

You don’t experience their storms.

They fix your problems.

Or try to.

You are the job.

Your relationship

Is solely based on the fact that

You’re emotionally fucked up.

Like, when you’re having a bad day

They come to the rescue

And then they go down to pub

Or shisha café in your case

To be with people they actually like

Whose company they

Actually enjoy

They are a perfect human

That’s what you are to me.

But I don’t want that.

I want to see your bruises.

I want to see where you were slain.

I want to feel the rapture with you.

And cry alongside you

I want to see your wars

And speak with your demons.

Why won’t you let me?

Why can’t I be your friend?

You mean so much to me.

And I, to you

A few appointments a year.

So no.

Not anymore. When I feel like I am drowning

All you will hear are how the skies are bluer than ever

And how the lavender smells so sweet

You will know nothing of my dark cloud

You will not see the blood

The anger

The insanity.

The depression.

I shall be to you.

As you are to me.

Perfect.

In every way.

And if not.

Then simply.

‘Tired’

[For S.S]