DEAR DR. GRAVESMAN
He marks off the sheet with his awesome
colored pencil; a reed in a stylus of blood, or
or a dripping tangible in a universe of ether.
Either way, he is the one with the power.
No man taller than the man who reaches high.
'Dear Dr. Gravesman, was it I who did this to
myself, or has it come from someplace else?'
-
I noticed he did not answer, just scrawled some
more. 'I do not like thee, Doctor, I do not like
thee well. You take my joys and tie them up,
and diagnose them Hell!' Those were my
words, not his. I never did find out what
he'd written on those yellow sheets.
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