Psychotherapy

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.