True Therapy

I wanna twist your head round and make you go Aaaaah. I’ll coil my fingers through your… Nah, that’s just more of the same. What’s the truest truth I can tell you on this cool grey morning in the fall and the clouds almost look orange?

The truest truth. Well, that’s easy. Life is love, is it not? Life is love explains all the question under the rug so we can forget about them and have a good party.

Step with me along the borderlines of our two countries. Let’s get all up in each other’s grills, my masticating, pheromone-spraying skinsack of bones, fluids and guts. Give me your mustard, ketchup and mayo. I’m gonna spread you all over my page.

Thuh-thunk. You’re stuck. I’ve pinned your hands and feet to the page, spread-eagled like Jesus, awaiting the spear. Feel the incision – ahh – in between your ribs. Feel my pen push against your flapping lungs, filling and deflating like pink life preservers.

Feel me touch the very edge of your heart, your beating, pumping, ever-dutiful heart. I pinch your heart in between my fingers. I clench my fist and feel you try to escape. It’s funny – my cardiovascular system is almost indistinguishable from yours when you drain it and hang it from the ceiling.

Is this all we are – bloody nervous wrecks being tossed on the trash heap of uncertain tragedy? Tilt with me, my quixotic pal, at the very real windmills in our minds. Fear, paranoia, depression and anxiety plague even the healthiest minds once in a while.

But we have each other. Never forget. We are SSRIs for each other. I swallow you by the handful. You’re a veritable cornucopia of treatments, dear reader. I’m lying down on the couch. You may begin.