the flying monkeys

the therapist

calls them flying monkeys.

you know,

she says,

like in the wizard of oz.

those

monkeys that do the bidding

of the green skinned

evil

wicked witch.

all of her friends

and siblings

have wings.

you have to watch out for

them,

they're not your friends,

she tells me.

they will watch you,

observe you, and report

back

to her with every

breath you take.

i laugh.

no worries, i've already

tossed that

bucket of water

on her.

she's a puddle of goo.

they're my monkeys

now.