Therapeutic poetry

*Disclaimer: This is depressing and not necessarily constructive.

Terrarium Noise

Witnessing unsteady mental health
is like sharing a bed
with a spouse
who chokes puffy wisps of white
condensation into a plastic bubble –
a CPAP mask terrarium of breath.

Everything is a quiet, buzzing hum
until someone is awakened
as the body shifts –
The mask slips off –
the whole room is greeted with a loud rush of air.

Louder than the reddest moon reflecting in the shiny glow of glossy walls,
walls which envelope bedded forms with kind sun patterns.

You have freed the irritant, effortlessly.

When you wake, you will sense that these walls are not yours.
They should not belong to snails whose shells refuse to quietly crunch underfoot when everyone around you just wanted to be rid of the burden –

the noise,
of you.


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