Therapy

I've learned to hit hard in words
Untold of my past, weary of the future.
But you are a puzzle,
Speckled in words of your own.
Piece-by-piece I read on,
Aching for the next chapter.
Your stability falters
As you bleed your wrists onto my screen.
I am your knife now.
I will perform this autopsy into your flesh,
Diving deep through your skull.
Perhaps I'll reach your mind.
I fear I've only breached the surface.
Damn these time-zones.
Why can I never match your availability?
I want to know more.
Tell me about who hurt you.
Tell me who sold you.
Tell me what is choking your heart.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
Beat slow.
Steady your tears,
Steady your crisp breath.
Gently relax your shoulders,
Unclench your teeth,
Take your tongue away from
The roof of your mouth.
Your story isn't pleasant,
But I'm a big fan of horror.
Where is your heart?
I hold mine in my hands,
My dear sister it is yours.
I reach for your missing soul.
I cannot see it. Why must you hide it?
Are you alive?
Is your soul warm?
I want to hear every little secret.
I sit in this chair,
Thinking cap on,
Asking you question after question.
This interrogation has to end,
But first I need you to tell me:
How does that make you feel?