Honesty Hour

My mother brings me here
Every day for an hour,
She thinks it will help,
But it just makes my mood sour.

I open the door,
A cold wind chills my spine,
Everyone's faces are
Pale, just like mine.

We sit in a circle,
Metal chairs,
Crystal tears,
Share all our problems,
So everyone can hear.

Molly only has two years to live,
She's afraid of dying.
Seth has nothing for which he can live,
His life is full of pain and sighing.

After each story, we mumble our prayers.
Our empty, "Things will get better"
And, "Trust us, we care".

When, in reality,
What's the point of trying?
Support groups are really
Just a large group of people lying
To themselves and to each other,
We know things won't get better.