Their / They’re / Therapy

This sucks

I suck

Out of predictable emotions

These are the sad bastard conditions

And certainly not what I would sing

Am I OK

Drawing on the floor

Drawing in circles around the spots where you were

My memory is selective

I can't say I'm ever sure

I can't say my intentions are ever too pure

Tracking your steps like a detective

I guess you could call it a problem

What goes on inside my head

A ring of constant questions

Subtle hands set in discretion

Keeping quiet but losing my voice instead

This sucks

I suck

Of documented emotions and self-diagnosed conditions

Am I OK

Am I OK

Am I OK

Am I OK