If I could just reach inside
the cogs and wheels,
the intricate workings of my heart,
sand away the rust
and tighten the loosened screws.
If I could replace the broken parts,
install shiny new pieces,
remove the tangled wires
and the debris of the years.
If I could just
FIX myself
with a sturdy toolkit
instead of being medicated 
with this bitter word that haunts me
with every pendulum swing;
psychotherapy.

Tick tock tick tock tick
psy  cho  ther ap   y.

It worms its way deep into my bones
and engraves upon them reminders
of every 'error' every 'wrong'.
Instilling throughout my core this idea
that I am broken,
conjuring an image of a bird slammed
against a tree in a storm.
There is a voice that echoes,
an asylum scream,
for every move made, every syllable uttered.
But still
time has no sympathy
it just marches on,
there is no novacaine
in this world of damaged rhythm.

Psy  cho  ther ap   y
tick tock tick tock tick.