Therapy gun

 The therapist gun
A bullet that scratches thought and the brain
The therapist takes your blood as an internal organ
connected externally

Pale exhausting tones of blue
pushed through speech to ear burdened and unwilling
Tell me where to put my intention therapist
 my rational organization of emotion

you are a machine gun riddling my mind
Brain matter all over the traumatic story
stained to my jacket as if the jacket were an organ
begin to load up that freud jung cocky gun