The Session

Insurmountable emotions

An understanding of brokenness

Loneliness incumbent

Death’s hollow emptiness

Resident of the heart

Purveyor of ills

Torturer of minds

Master of thrills

Words of wisdom

Depression’s deaf ears

Killer’s instinct

Life’s endless fears

Brittle life, brittle bones

Fragile mind, hefty tomes

Suggestible demeanor

Ever, always, kill the dreamer

Empty threats, obscure desires

Hold your breath, extinguish fires

Fear and wanting, all the same

Listen closely, you know my name

A calling in my heart, insurrection

A battle of the mind for my protection

Insistent with its claws, this my depression

Hold your peace; we’re now in session

Eyes

The eyes terrify me. Those chasms of blackness staring back at me. I think I see evil behind them. I see an ugly human being with an ugly mind. I see the sorrow and the anger held behind the eyes, dying to be seen, desperate to come forth. Terror forces me to turn, to look away, to avoid the glances despite the desire to stare. There is no immediate resolution. I simply must forget the eyes when I am not looking at them. Until again, I see those eyes. I have seen them countless times between, but I notice them once more. They are at once fear-inducing and calming. I look more closely, and I realize that the eyes make more sense now. They are matched by a sorrowful face. No fake smile accompanies the doleful eyes. Not evil; out of place. Out of context it is unsettling, this sadness. But when confronted with the undeniable truth of the eyes and the mind behind the eyes, they seem at last in place, if not unwanted. The willingness to acknowledge a feeling can allow for acceptance of the symptoms, understanding of the consequences of emotion. It is difficult to accept the actions of others, not to mention the catalysts within the others' brains. It is even more difficult to accept our own actions, our own anger, our own lack of rationality. The eyes terrify me because if I want to see them, they must see me, piercing into my very soul, seeming to perceive something I cannot, their pupils following mine in the mirror, never relenting, yet never unveiling what secrets they have uncovered.