I. Overexposed
Lying exposed in the fluorescent box
Surgical paper crinkles against my back
Impersonal hands press soft tissue
Those intimate parts of me no one is supposed to touch
Inhale, she says, I breathe in hand sanitizer aroma
Exhale, she says, I breathe out the sterile remains
Removes the ice metal from my ribs, the signal of the end
Put on my shirt and I'm no longer a lab specimen
They call a "patient".

The same poor therapist...

DOCTER: AAAHHHHH!!!! I’M GOING TO GO CRAZY! HELP ME! HELP ME!

THERAPIST: Some have reason to think you are already…

DOCTOR: What? Never mind. You must sort out my problems!

THERAPIST: Oh, silly me! I thought that was my job…

DOCTOR: Huh? Ah well. Where was I? Oh, yes, my problem.

THERAPIST: Get on with it then!

DOCTOR: Well sir, uh, I have a very big problem!

THERAPIST: No? Surely not?

DOCTOR: But it’s true! I… my… she… and he…and they…said…

THERAPIST: My patience is waning.