The Lie

My therapist told me to write my thoughts
My therapist told me to process and move on

My pen has frozen above the page
My pen appears to have run out of ink

A memory a toxin
A toxin a drug

Did you write your thoughts? my therapist asks
Did you process and move on?

Yes, I say brightly

I bricked over it all
I kept all of it, all of it
I wrote you into my walls