The Diagnosis Was the Door

[Intro] One wooden chair. One open file. One question waiting Without a smile. [Verse 1] The doctor traced a careful line Across a page of borrowed names. The room was still as winter glass, Too quiet to accuse or blame. A sparrow sang beyond the pane— The last sound that belonged to me. [Verse 2] "Tell me what you think you hear." I answered with the afternoon. The dust, the clock, the bending light, The patient orbit of the room. She nodded like a closing gate, As if she'd heard it all before. [Transition] She closed the folder. The latch clicked. Something answered... From the other side. [Explosion] The diagnosis was the door. Not the words. Not the pen. The door. [Verse 3] Walls folded into jagged teeth. The floor broke time into sharp squares. Hands became a blur of angles, Voices struck like falling chairs. Every sentence split in seven, None of them could touch the ground. [Chaos] Break the frame! Count to five! Nothing stays! Nothing survives! Open! Shut! Open! Shut! Every exit eats itself!