"You tried to kill yourself,"
says the man in the tie,
sitting very near
in a chair that seems very far away,
his face too friendly
to be genuine.
"How do you feel about this?"

She looks out the window,
trying to remember what roses smell like.
"I feel…"
She pauses,
"Nothing."

"You know yourself better
than anyone,"
He says.
"What would be your reason for doing this?"

Her right hand rests on the arm of her chair,
index finger softly tapping the upholstery,
she eyes the expanse of green outside.
"It doesn't sound
like something I would do,"
she replies.

"So you can't think of why
you'd want to take your own life?"
He seems to be looking
for something specific.
She shakes her head,
images fleeting,
like what flashes on the screen
at a movie theater,
right before
the reel breaks.

"What do you remember?"
he asks.

Snippets of photographs…
malfunctioning scissors…
wanting a gun…
"Nothing,"
she answers.

"How do you feel
right now?"
he wants to know.
She sighs.
All she wants
is for someone to sing her to sleep.
If I can just have this,
she thinks,
maybe the nightmares will stop.